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nolita-fairytale · 7 months

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don't you worry, there's still time | chef luca x fem!reader, feat. marcus brooks

summary: after losing his mother, marcus searches for joy and stillness in copenhagen. you and luca, who are more than happy to host, decide to take a big next step in your relationship. a oneshot from the world of 'burn your life down.'

warnings: fluff, light angst, grief, death, light smut, second person pov, swearing, danish inaccuracies, off-canon connection to the storyline of the bear.

word count: 5.8k

listen to: the playlist

a/n: wow, i missed this world! who is ready for the reveal of chef's restaurant name?! while i don't think i have the bandwidth to write another full series (nor a linear story to tell) i'm thinking of creating a second part to 'burn your life down' where we just get to drop in and see what they're up to. thoughts??

chef luca masterlist | full masterlist

After a tumultuous holiday season, it doesn’t take long for Sydney to realize that her friend is in need of a little help. A reprieve, she so kindly explained to both Marcus and Carmy when she’d proposed the idea.

It was Sydney this time, who called Luca, knowing that she and Carmy would have to find something to do with Marcus. It wasn’t fair – that he’d lost his mom just before Thanksgiving – and they both agreed that Marcus needed to get out of dodge. Quick to act, Carmy set up a few stages in NYC for a week or so, which, while seemed to inspire Marcus, seemed to only plunge him further into a slump come Christmas. “I don’t know. I think we gotta send him on some kinda… eat, pray, love trip. The guy can only sulk on my couch for so long before I consider jumping out of the window,” Sydney says, her attempt to lighten the mood with humor still genuine. “It’s getting sad, Carm. Like… real fuckin’ sad.”

“You’re right. Uh… what about Copenhagen?” Carmy pitches with a shrug, because he knows what all consuming grief feels like.

“Again?” she asks, uncertain of whether it’s the best choice that they could make.

“Yeah,” Carmy shrugs in response. “Think he got a lot of it last time. Could be good for him to go back to somewhere familiar… work with Luca again. You don’t think it’s a-?”

“No I do! I just-,” Sydney hesitates, though she knows her business partner makes a good point. “Familiarity will be good for him. To be around people he can trust.”

“You want me to uh-,” Carmy begins to offer, figuring he’ll make the call.

“Probably best if I explain the situation. Just ‘cause, you know, I know more of what’s going on… just send me his info and I’ll call later,” Sydney interjects.

Carmy agrees with a curt nod before adding in:

“Uh… okay yeah. Yeah.”

You get plenty of time to prepare for Marcus’ visit, performing all kinds of fancy footwork to arrange a proper visit – a week’s worth of time spent staging and living in Copenhagen. When Luca finds out that the prolific houseboat, a chef retreat of sorts that’s always been an option for lodging, is booked for the week and a half that Marcus plans on visiting, you offer up your place without hesitation.

The arrangement goes as follows: while Marcus stays at yours at no cost, you’ll stay with Luca for the duration of the time.

This is how you find yourself at the massive Ikea on Dybbølsbro on a Saturday morning with Luca, in search of a set of fresh bed linens intended for guests.

“I really should host more. And Astrid said she and Lina were planning a trip out here so… why not kill two birds with one stone?” you’d reasoned to your boyfriend, making a strong case for why you and Luca should make this little shopping trip.

“What do you think of the blue?” Luca asks you, as you run your hand over a set of the display sheets, checking for softness.

“Don’t know if the blue is what I’m going for. I was thinking of something warmer. Maybe a yellow or… I don’t know. I’ve kind of been into that trendy rust color as of late,” you reply with a shrug, moving onto the warmer colors.

Luca chuckles and with a small shake of his head, he clarifies his previous questions with:

“No, I meant for me.”

“What do you mean?” you ask him curiously, his comment pulling all of your focus as you search his face for answers. “You just got new bedding.”

And expensive ones too.

But as your eyes follow his gaze, you realize that he’s not talking about sheets, focused on the XL Twin-sized duvets just above where the sheets messily fall along the shelf.

“I was thinking…” Luca trails off, checking in with you before he continues, with “... maybe it’s time I get two duvets… you know… for us.” He takes a beat, and a step towards you, and you know you’ll never stand a chance against his boyish charm as one side of his mouth turns up into a smile.

You’re no stranger to the Scandinavian duvet method – two twin duvets for one king sized bed – but it sounds like Luca’s suggestion is about way more than buying an extra duvet on this trip.

“I want you to feel at home… at my place."

“I do,” you reply, almost instantly, a warmth spreading through your belly as you take a step towards him.

“But I mean really… feel like it’s your home. Because it is. It could be. You know… if you want it to be,” Luca continues, this time with more insistence, a look of hopefulness in his deep blue eyes.

“Are you… are you asking me to move in with you?” you manage to get out, your heart skipping a beat.

“Why not? We could use this week to try it out,” he suggests so casually that you practically have to do a double take. “See how it goes while Marcus stays at your place?”

“Yeah I-... that sounds like a good plan, yeah,” you stammer out, the grin on your face undeniable as you nod enthusiastically in the middle of a goddamn furniture store.

“Besides,” Luca says, clearing his throat as his tone changes to one that’s much more playful. “You’re an absolute blanket hog and a repeat offender at that.” Luca winks your way as you roll your eyes with a laugh in response. “This could prevent some of our silly little quarrels, don’t you think, love?”

“Uh huh,” you sound, your face skeptical as you look his way again. “Preventative measures. Sure, babe.”

Luca chuckles before leaning down to press a chaste kiss to your lips, right then and there, in the Ikea bed linen section, the place you’ll now forever think of as the place your boyfriend asked you to move in with him.

Connection

When Marcus arrives in Copenhagen, you’ve arranged your home with the most comfort in mind, having already packed a week’s worth of things and left for Luca’s. You can only imagine what he must be going through, deciding that something like that – losing your mother – though inevitable, is your goddamn worst nightmare.

“Marcus,

Enjoy your stay and please reach out if you need anything. I can’t wait to meet you!”

…is the note that you leave him, along with a few morning pastries you picked up from your favorite baggeri across the street, and your number scribbled down at the bottom of the notepad.

As Marcus arrives, his eyes drawn immediately to your note and gift, Marcus smiles to himself, noticing that you left a very nice looking bottle of wine on the counter as well. He’s moved by your generosity, considering you’ve never met, and the fact that you’re willing to take so much care, extend this much kindness to a stranger, causes a wave of softness to wash over him.

Maybe, just maybe, he can find softness again – the last few months riddled with pain, grief, and numbness to get through the days.

While he came here to work, encouraged by his friends that a change of scenery may do his broken heart some good, it’s the first time Marcus has had a chance to be still. His feelings of grief sit heavier here and it catches him off guard, uncertain that he’s quite ready to sit with them yet. He pushes aside the thought, focusing on exploring your home and unpacking his bags. Marcus knows how to stay busy – he’s become an expert at it by now – reminding himself that he’s got work at 5 am sharp tomorrow.

“A little too much, chef. Take it down by about 15 grams,” Luca directs, his voice even and sure as he inspects the balls of dough that Marcus currently shapes.

“Yes, chef,” Marcus nods in understanding, plopping the ball of dough back on the scale to adjust the measurement.

The two of them work like this for the rest of the morning, Luca treading carefully while keeping things professional, while Marcus buries himself in the work – something that feels good, safe, right.

He’s missed this. While Marcus has one chef he works with directly at the restaurant, he’s the expert – the head patissier. He misses being surrounded by excellence, getting to be a student of someone who is just as driven, if not more, and inspired. It’s good, quiet, calm, yet there’s a focus and intensity in Luca’s kitchen that feels like a breath of fresh air.

His stage trip to New York has been more of a mess than beneficial. Maybe it had been the chaos of the city, or the chaos of the chefs he was working with. Maybe it was the fact that Marcus, though hungry for a distraction, hadn’t quite been ready to walk directly into the line of fire yet.

As Marcus’ practiced hands move with the dough, there’s a newfound confidence in the way that he works that's not lost on Luca. Luca watches his friend carefully, pride swelling in his chest as his mentee makes the adjustment with ease and diligence.

“Can I join you?” Luca asks, gesturing towards Marcus' workstation.

“‘Course, chef,” Marcus replies, his response short yet reverent.

As Luca joins him, finding a space to the right of Marcus, he busies his hands with rolling each perfectly measured ball of dough into mini boules, ready to proof. The two of them work quietly, side by side, the air between them heavy with words unsaid. He can feel it – the weight that lays so heavily on Marcus' heart – but Luca doesn’t want to bring it up, uninterested in forcing the conversation. Especially about something so painful, something he knows that Marcus has barely begun working through.

“Thanks, again. For uh… you know… letting me come work,” Marcus begins, momentarily checking in with Luca to gauge a reaction.

“‘Course,” Luca replies, his answer instantaneous. “You’re welcome here any time, mate.”

“Yeah?” Marcus asks, stealing a glance in Luca’s direction.

“Yeah,” Luca responds with a certain nod.

“And uh… shit. I can’t thank your girlfriend enough for letting me crash at her place,” Marcus adds, as he works through his discomfort and overwhelm from the wave of feelings that begin to bubble up in his chest.

“You can thank her yourself on Saturday,” Luca brings up, excited over the fact that Marcus will not only be meeting his girlfriend, but staging at her restaurant too. “She’s really looking forward to meeting you.”

Marcus nods slowly, his hands the only steady thing about him as he continues to focus on his work.

“I just mean-, well, she didn’t have to-. ‘S not like either of you owed it to me or anything and I-. You guys just really came through…” Marcus trails off, wanting to make his gratitude clear. It means more to him that he can articulate so instead he settles for, “So thank you. Again.”

Luca shrugs with an aplomb about him as he returns with, “We got you, mate.” He pauses before continuing, fully aware that Marcus isn’t quite comfortable with the feelings that have presented themself in this moment. “And the way I see it, I wouldn’t have met her if it weren’t for you – for our conversation the last time you were here – so we really do owe you for it.”

This time Luca makes an effort to check in with Marcus, gauging his emotional capacity as he concludes with:

“But that’s not what any of this is about: debts, who owes who what. We were both more than happy to host you. That’s what mates are for.”

It’s not till the end of the next shift that it hits him, and Marcus finds himself sitting outside of the restaurant on a bench across the street. He’s not sure whether it’s the jet lag or the exhaustion of the 5 am start time in another time zone, but it hits him all at once, like a ton of bricks. Suddenly consumed with the feelings that he’s been trying his best to avoid, all he can do is pause, completely caught off guard by the strength of them.

Quietly, Luca joins him, having spotted him on his way home, rerouting himself in Marcus’ direction instead.

All he can think of are the words you’ve asked him, and he you, time and time again – the ones that cut right to the core of you each and every time – that show you how much he cares.

“How’s your heart?” Luca asks Marcus, after a few minutes of sitting on the bench together in silence.

And how is his heart?

He’s not sure how to answer, considering it’s been a while since he’s really had a chance to check in, the crippling reality of this great loss is too much to bear alone.

His heart is broken, shattered into an infinite amount of pieces.

He, and his heart will never be the same again and he doesn’t know where or how he’ll ever put it back together.

His heart is… lost, in desperate need of finding a soft place to land.

Marcus takes a while to answer, racking his brain for any semblance of a cohesive answer.

He waits. And then he waits.

Until finally, he can answer.

“I uh… don’t know. But I’m hoping this trip will help me figure that out.”

Creativity

“do you remember the 21st night of september? love was changin' the minds of pretenders while chasin' the clouds away.” (earth, wind, and fire.)

Everything about the way you run your kitchen feels different than what he’s used to.

It’s sure as hell different from his last stage trip to New York, Marcus thinks to himself.

With Carmy and Syd, working with them, there’s a buzz of chaos that runs underneath even the most organized and efficient service. It’s something integral to what they have, gives an edge to The Bear that seems to make it hum in all the right ways. Even with Luca, who comes from fine dining and Michelin-starred restaurants, there’s a quiet and determined focus – an intensity to his work – even without the undercurrent of chaos.

But this. But you.

Your kitchen somehow teeters the line of organized chaos and reckless play so well that Marcus understands why this works – why it’s efficient.

Still, he watches as you and your staff dance – no, literally dance – around each other to the highly recognizable Earth, Wind, and Fire tune. Mathilde sings along while chopping chives for the brothy mushroom grain bowl, while, mid-phrase, manages to yell out a short command to a line cook in Danish. Out of the corner of his eye, Marcus catches Jesper working the dining room, while you finish plating two more dishes, ready to be walked out.

It’s as if you find focus in the center of all the noise, somewhere between the electric energy between you, Mathilde, and your staff, and the feel-good vibes and homeyness of the restaurant that you’ve created.

You had been more than welcoming when Marcus had walked through the doors of your restaurant, Kokuore, mere hours ago. You’d given him the tour, shown him which station he’d be working this evening, then warmly introduced him to your entire team before family meal started. Marcus can’t stop moving, too afraid to be still in fear of falling apart in the presence of how comforting you’ve been.

And this? Your kitchen. It’s all joy, connection, and artistry.

It’s not hard for him to see why Luca fell in love with you.

“Marcus, feel free to take a break,” he hears you say, as you nod towards the dining room through the open kitchen.

As Marcus follows your gesture, he notices that Luca’s arrived, remembering something about a standing Saturday date.

“You sure, chef?” Marcus asks, looking to you for approval.

“Positive,” you nod, reassuringly.

Marcus nods in return to confirm, before taking his apron off and making his way over to the dining room where Luca is exchanging a few words with Jesper.

“Wassup, chef,” he greets his mentor.

“You know, you can call me Luca,” Luca reminds him with a crooked smile. “At least when we’re off the clock.”

Marcus chuckles, “Uh… yeah alright. That’s gonna take some getting used to.”

Luca chuckles in return, before Jesper shows them to his table, mentioning something about Americans being so afraid of fluidity.

“She’s brilliant isn’t she?” Luca asks, in reference to you as his eyes catch yours from across the room.

“Nah for real. Like… mad scientist vibes,” Marcus concurs with a smile. “She can throw down for sure.” He pauses as they sit down at Luca’s table. “So you come every Saturday night, huh?”

“When I can, yeah, which is… most Saturdays,” Luca replies honestly, before beginning to list why he’s kept up this routine. “But it’s nice. Keeps me inspired. I get to see my girl, walk her home at night which makes me feel better.” Luca leans back in his chair this time, crossing his arms over his chest. “And I never mind helping close down at the end of the night.”

Marcus hums in response before one of the waitstaff comes to their table, with a glass of wine in hand, on the house. They chat for a little longer before Marcus returns to the kitchen, his excitement for what you’re doing here filling him to the brim.

As dinner service comes to an end, Marcus can’t help but notice the chemistry and how unique it is as you all work together in perfect harmony. There’s a warmth to it, something different, and he begins to understand why the name of the restaurant comes from the word, heart.

Luca is quick to get up from his table, quickly finishing his glass of wine as he offers to help close down. The music volume goes from underscoring the buzz of a busy night of service, to the main attraction, as a motown throwbacks playlist begins to blare from the speakers. You all work quickly and efficiently, eager to close down, get home, and begin your weekends, but it’s when an old Otis Redding track that Luca decides to put a pause on the progress.

“Dance with me, my love,” he says, offering his hand out to you as a huge gesture that earns a few looks and giggles from some of your staff.

“Luca,” you begin to protest, looking around.

“You can take three minutes,” he offers, exchanging a look with you this time.

You nod, taking his hand as you agree with, “Okay.”

And as Luca wraps you up in his arms, engaging you in a slow dance to Otis Redding’s “That’s How Strong my Love is,” you chuckle, relaxing into him.

“Oh, get a room, you two!” Jesper calls out after you, teasingly.

“She pretends – always puts up a fight – as if they don’t do this every single week,” Mathilde adds, as an explanation to Marcus.

“Every week?” Marcus asks, a little surprised by both you and Luca’s willingness to pause and revel in a moment with each other, instead of just pushing through.

“Yeah. Romantics, they are,” Jesper chimes in.

Marcus smiles to himself. It’s a reminder of slowness – something he hasn’t let himself experience in a long time – and for just a moment, he lets himself settle into the feeling.

You don’t even mind that you woke up an hour before your alarm the moment you feel Luca’s arms wrapped around you, and his lips against your soft skin. The low rumble of his voice resonates across your shoulders, sending chills down your spine as you arch into his hands, his arms wrapped around you.

“I know we’re only a few days in… of our little trial,” Luca begins, the bass of his voice reverberating through your shoulder blade.

“Our living together trial?” you clarify with your ask, letting out a gasp as he nibbles on your shoulder gently.

“Yeah. Just wonderin’ where your mind’s at,” Luca murmurs, his eager hands beginning to explore underneath the oversized shirt you put on before bed last night.

“Well… I really like this,” you reply, the sound that comes out of your mouth somewhere between a giggle and a moan.

“Hmmmm?” Luca sounds, innocently.

“This… Waking up to you thing.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Mhm.”

Luca’s name escapes your lips as his fingers gently begin to play with your nipples, his erection hard against your back as you begin to grind your hips back against.

“And the access to round the clock sex is really a bonus,” you sigh, blissfully.

“Oh yeah?” he asks you again, a large tatted hand slipping between your legs.

“Yeah… I’d even be… interested in leaning into that part… right now,” you hiss in reply to his touch. “Considering you’re distracting me with sex.”

“Hmmmmm. ‘S not just it, love. Have I told you how grateful I am for what you’ve done for Marcus?” Luca asks, his mouth back on your neck. He presses your body against him, your back to his chest as he rocks his hips against yours.

“Luca!” you protest, unable to focus on the conversation.

“It’s your kindness. Your heart… I’m in awe of it,” he continues to praise you as the two of you begin to set a rhythm between your bodies.

It’s all heat, and soft sighs of pleasure, and foreplay.

“Well, I know a little something about what he’s going through,” you answer breathlessly. You begin to impatiently push the hem of your shirt higher so that you can give Luca more access to your body.

“That’s why I love you,” Luca murmurs into your skin, his hands all over you, his focus unbroken and your mind beginning to go blank. His hands are tearing your shirt over your head as he continues to praise you. “Your heart, the way you share it.”

“You helped me get there, baby,” you gasp, turning your head so that you can kiss your boyfriend.

Instead of answering, Luca nods knowingly, before crashing his lips into yours. His mouth on yours feels like heaven, and you can’t believe that you ever fought your feelings for him.

“Ah fuck it. Let’s do it. Let’s move in together,” you surrender to him, lost in the moment.

“Yeah?” Luca pauses, pulling away, as if almost can’t believe what he’s hearing.

“Yeah. I mean it, baby,” you nod, catching his gaze, certain in the way you answer. “I wanna wake up to you every morning.”

“Me too, my love,” Luca grins, before pressing his lips to yours again. “Now will you please let me fuck you, darling?”

“Fuck yes.”

Luca spends the next hour showing you just how grateful he is for you, while you in return, spend the next hour showing him just how sure you are about this decision.

And you are sure. If mornings like this are a constant for the rest of your life, you think you’ll die a happy woman.

You’ve found a home in him, and he, you. He’s the person you want to come home to at the end of the day. He’s the man that puts a smile on your face every single time he gets on his soapbox about how Beyonce is the performer of your lifetimes, and he is unequivocally the best, most unexpected thing in your life.

Luca Davies, in almost a year of knowing him, and eight months of getting to love him, has somehow become your favorite person.

By the time you and Luca are both showered and decent-for-company, you’ve begun your mise en place for brunch, completely content with the fact that you’re running a little behind schedule (and in all fairness, the sex was worth it – it’s always worth it). The smell of bacon sizzling away on your carbon steel fry pan fills the entire apartment, and you’re glad that Luca opened a window earlier. It’s not exactly window weather yet, but the air ventilation is a must when it comes to smoked meats.

While you play catch up with your brunch plan, Luca’s busy welcoming Marcus in, pouring him a cup of coffee using the extensive ten-step pour over he’s been fixated on ever since he purchased it, while they chat here and there about what else he’s explored in Denmark.

“Been too busy working, to be honest but… I don’t know. I might wander around today… see what kind of stuff I can get into,” Marcus answers frankly with a shrug.

“Ah, mate. We just had a walk at the Frederiksberg Gardens. Definitely something I’d recommend checking out,” Luca suggests, his eyes lighting up with excitement as he mentions it.

Luca continues moving through his list of recommendations, Marcus chiming in with places and things he did the last time he was here, excited to spend a few days exploring the city instead of just working.

“Wanderin’ around. I dunno. There’s something about it. ‘S good for the spirit, you know?” Luca concludes.

“Yeah,” Marcus nods in agreement, before turning his attention over to the French toast you’re working on. “Okay, I see you. What is that? Mascarpone?”

“Yeah, good eye. It’s just something new I’m working on: a mascarpone stuffed french toast. We’re actually talking about extending our hours… maybe doing weekend brunch,” you answer thoroughly, as you dip the stuffed pieces of bread into their egg batter, pre-cook.

“For real? That’s sick,” Marcus compliments, watching you carefully. “I mean… shit. You could have a whole brunch spot.”

“What do you mean?” you ask, looking up from your cutting board.

“A Brunch spot,” Marcus repeats, simply, the excitement in his eyes at the new idea, evident. “Yeah, you know. Luca could do the morning pastries. You work your magic on the rest of the menu.”

“That’s a novel idea! What do you think, my love?” Luca asks, intrigue in his voice as he searches your face for a reaction.

“I-,” you begin, looking from Luca to Marcus, then back to Luca again. “I… never thought about it like that.” You take a beat, eyeing Luca carefully. “We’ve never talked about going into business together.”

Marcus shrugs, before picking up his coffee mug, “Yo, it’s just a thought. I think you two would be unstoppable together.”

“Unstoppable, eh?” Luca asks, his eyes locked with yours.

You only hum in response, raising a quirked eyebrow in Luca’s direction before adding:

“It’s certainly one hell of an idea, Marcus.”

Kokuore

Monday afternoon, you find yourself at your restaurant with Marcus Brooks, on a day off.

“I might need a little extra help with something tomorrow. We’re closed tomorrow, but I want to get ahead on this special I’m working on. Could use the help of a pastry chef. What do you say?” you’d proposed to him, over one more espresso before he left.

To Luca’s dismay, (“ you silly Americans just can’t enjoy a day of doing nothing,” he’d teased the two of you) Marcus had given you an unwavering yes, reassuring you that he was down to learn everything he possibly could from you, especially while he was here.

And it’s true. You do need the help. But should he want someone to talk to – someone who gets it, even just a little bit – you want to offer him the space and the opportunity to do so.

“As a patissier, do you get tasked with pasta? At The Bear?” you ask Marcus, as you pleat a dumpling in hand with a speed that only comes with practice.

“Nah,” Marcus sounds, his focus on the dumpling he’s pleating too. His concentration on getting the pleats right is reverent and unbroken, even as he answers your question. “Our head chef, Carmy, he uh… he comes from an Italian American family so when we’ve done a stuffed pasta… he usually takes the lead on that.”

You nod in understanding, placing the dumpling you’ve just finished down on the full-sized sheet pan. The two of you sit across from each other, having pushed a few dining tables together as a makeshift workstation.

“Think Luca’ll take over this kinda stuff when you guys open a restaurant together?” Marcus asks, lightheartedly pushing his agenda from yesterday.

You laugh in response, your hands working quickly on yet another dumpling.

“For someone with no skin in the game, you’re really insistent on this idea,” you tease him in return.

“Don’t tell me you’ve never thought about it,” Marcus pushes right back, his tone still light.

“I…” you sigh, trailing off as you pause your work for a moment. “You know, we just said we’d move in together. That and a restaurant? Feels fast.”

“Oh shit.”

“Yeah.”

“Like… a few hours before you came over for brunch,” you elaborate, earning a whistle from Marcus. The two of you exchange a look, and a laugh, as you pick up another dumpling wrapper that you and Marcus rolled out together earlier.

“It’s a good idea though,” you add, stealing a glance his way so that he knows that you’re serious.

“Well, when you two inevitably do open a restaurant… I want ten percent,” Marcus jokes, earning another laugh from you.

“Deal,” you agree with him.

You and Marcus work like this, exchanging a few words, the conversation light, underscored by a softer acoustic soundtrack from one of your Spotify radio stations.

“So how’d you learn to cook like this?” Marcus asks you curiously.

“Uh…” you hesitate, treading carefully as you realize this conversation could open a can of worms.

“I don’t know how much Luca’s told you about me… but I was married… before him,” you begin, cautiously. “And… well, I learned a lot of this… a lot of traditional Japanese cooking from my mother-in-law.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. These are her dumplings actually – her recipe. She passed away last Fall and… well, it was important to me to celebrate her – to celebrate her life – by creating a few dishes for her,” you continue, and it’s as if all of the air has been sucked out of the room. “We’re bringing this one back as a special this month but um… yeah. I’m… still very much grieving and… it helps me remember her. Cooking her food helps me feel close to her, you know?”

“Yeah,” Marcus sighs, his heart heavy as he exhales.

He waits a beat.

And then another, having paused his work as he watches you pleat, head down, with expert hands.

The silence between you and Marcus is full, heavy, connected by shared experience. You wait for Marcus to say something, and when he doesn’t, you decide to continue.

“This restaurant… has so much of my heart in it: it’s got my love for Italian food from growing up in my best friend’s family’s restaurant, and it’s got my love for her – for Aiko – and everything she taught me,” you begin to explain. “And lately… it’s got a fresh perspective… inspired by the love I have with Luca, I think. Well, I know. Inspired by him… how this place brought us together.”

“The name itself is… totally made up, but means a lot to me. The Japanese word for heart is, kokoro, and the Italian word for heart is, cuore. Somehow an homage to my past… and was… Prophetic in so many ways too.”

As Marcus listens, Luca’s previous question lingers in his head:

How’s your heart?

At the time he didn’t know how to answer, and after five days in Copenhagen – after five days of doing what he loves in a place that he loves – his heart is somehow so full, yet so broken all at once. He’s filled with deep sorrow and with the spark of creativity all at the same time, and he’s just not sure how to hold all of this feeling inside of him.

Marcus waits a beat, opens his mouth, then lets the words fall out.

“It’s evident. In your food,” is all he manages to say. “It’s got soul. It’s got heart. I-, it’s inspiring. That’s for sure.”

“I made a dish. For Michael,” Marcus adds, his eyes on the dumpling he works on, but the guard on his heart beginning to fall away. “He was uh… well, he was the old owner of the restaurant, called The Beef back then. Carmy took over after he died. Felt right to honor him and his life, you know? When we reopened as The Bear.”

“Food is… it’s our art, you know?” you agree. “Sometimes it’s the only way I know how to express myself and… sometimes it’s just the thing that makes sense.”

“Yeah.”

A beat.

“Maybe one day I can make one for my mom,” Marcus says, his voice stuck in his throat as he admits, “I don’t know if I’m ready yet. But I think… I think I’d like to eventually.”

“Of course,” you reassure him gently. “You don’t have to be ready now. You don’t have to be ready ever. But when you are, your art will always be there.”

“Thanks,” Marcus nods solemnly.

You get up this time, realizing the sheet pan is full, and ready to be placed on the baker’s rack. As you return to the table with a new empty sheet pan, lined with parchment paper, Marcus finally asks you, his eyes soft, the heartbreak in them present.

“How’d you get through? You know. Losing her? Your mother-in-law?”

You return to your chair with a heavy sigh.

“I’ll let you know when I do,” you answer, letting up a soft chuckle. “It helps to have good people and… from what Luca’s told me, you do. But… I had to let ‘em in, let ‘em help me. Let ‘em love me. And in all honesty, most days I’m still just… taking it day by day.”

“Yeah, I-. I do. I got some really good people. Back home,” Marcus drags out slowly.

“Then that’s all that matters. Your people and your heart. The rest… you just-,” you start.

“Take day by day?” Marcus interjects, pausing to catch your eyes.

You and Marcus exchange a knowing look, the recognition of each others’ pain is met with empathy.

“Yeah. I think that's all we can do.”

By the end of your work session with Marcus, you’re ready to head home so that you can spend the rest of the day with Luca.

“What’re you gonna do with the rest of your day?” you ask Marcus, curiously.

With a sigh, and then a shrug, and a heart that feels just a little lighter, he answers with:

“Think I might wander around a bit. Someone once told me it’s good for the spirit.”

#chef luca #will poulter #luca the bear #the bear season 2 #the bear headcanon #luca x reader #the bear hulu #the bear fx #the bear fanfiction #chef luca x reader #pastry chef luca #burn your life down

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stararch4ngelqueen · 6 months

Note

Hi! I have been obsessed with your Jason fics for a couple of days. They are just so sweet and incredible. I simply love them and I think that thanks to you I have a new comfort character 😊

I kind of had a little 🤏 anxiety attack in a situation similar to the one I am going to request yesterday. But, somehow imagining Jason recomforting me and thinking about your stories helped me to ease my mind for a while. So thank you so much 🫶🏼

If you have time and like the idea, could you make a fic in which Jason and fem!reader at a Gala in the Wayne Manor and the reader kinds of stress out because people keep asking her questions and looking at her (maybe because that it's their first event as an official couple 🤔) and Jason helps her and assures her that everything will be fine

Hope you have a good day!

Aww I’m sorry to hear that. I get those a lot with my job. Sorry it’s so short, but I hope this helps!

—

“I’ll say it as much as I have to,” Jason’s voice rumbles comfort in your ear, his hand settling snug along your back.

“You look stunning, babe. Don’t worry.”

His words became a temporary balm to your rising concerns, causing a nearly endless bubbling in your tummy.

You weren’t like this when you arrived, fiddling with the skirt of your dress in the back of the limousine. It began when you caught various flashes of photographers along the manor gates, attempting to catch evidence of tonight’s Gala attendees.

Of course, Jason’s commentary from how you’ve done your makeup, to this gorgeous… gorgeous silk dress you picked out for the event, was ever such an ego boost.

A rich, merlot color, complimenting the collar of his button up under his tux jacket. All of Gotham knew just how extravagant Bruce Wayne’s galas were, ranging from charity events to holiday celebrations.

Part of you was excited to attend, despite it being out of your comfort zone. Lots of important people, plenty of snobs looking to get on Wayne’s good side. You imagined that one scene from The Devil Wears Prada; the main character himself strolling along with an aura of charming confidence as he greeted his guests, while his sons lounge around the stairs in absolute boredom, adorned in their secretly signature colors.

Jason usually avoided these events, but just for tonight, he wouldn’t mind attending as long as had his lovely girl by his side.

The dress made you look like complete eye candy. He wasn’t afraid to say that. His girl deserved to look her best, as long as people knew who you arrived and were leaving with at the end of the night.

“What if they ask a bunch of personal stuff?”

“Tell ‘em a bunch of personal lies,” Jason shrugs. “S’what I do all the time.”

Lying seems the most reasonable. Rich, important people do it all the time. What’re they gonna do, fact check you on the spot?

“Ah ah,” he holds up a finger the second he sees your lips open, shaking his head after another sip of champagne. “Look, if they were that desperate to look for truth here, then what’s the point of secret identities?”

After nearly an hour of gentle symphonies accompanying a handful of introductions at a time, your polite smile grew a little more strained. Shaking hands of many faces you didn’t care about, politely nodding your head towards patrons you accidentally made eye contact with and so on, had you clutching Jason’s forearm just a little tighter.

He remained by your side, offering you some soda water or champagne to settle your nerves after finding you both a semi-quiet retreat in a slightly vacant corner.

You weren’t sure why your mind began focusing on the outer talk of guests around you, but you begin to hate yourself for it.

Questions varying from who you were, hushed mutters of if you were simply bribed by lavish gifts to attend. Was another son of Bruce Wayne following in his playboy footsteps, going from girl to girl?

Such comments even went as far as to compliment your hair and makeup. You even heard a woman say this shade of red didn’t suit your skin tone. What does that even mean??

Soon enough, the music grew as loud as the chatter, making your chest swell and burn with irritation for the mental overstimulation.

Jason takes a fresh drink from a tray before leading you out from the stuffy crowds, striving into the courtyard patio. A warm, natural floral breeze helps wipe your senses clean after breathing in a cloying concoction of expensive fragrances all in one room.

A few well dressed patrons were scattered about, smoking cigarettes neatly tucked in slick metal cases. Jason didn’t stop there, leading you down a short set of curved stairs leading into the gardens.

“Breathe, babe. I gotcha.” He holds your hand at first before reaching for his jacket buttons. “All this liquor didn’t get to your head, did it?”

His teasing nearly fell on deaf ears as he draped his coat over your bare shoulders, making his smile slowly fade from your silence.

“You sure you don’t just wanna dip? We can stop at a diner and tell the waiters Batman crashed our expensive, high school prom.”

“Bruce won’t get mad?” You question after a short smile, watching Jason’s lips purse with a firm head shake.

“I mean, we showed up,” Jason clarifies while balancing his empty glass along a nearby stone bench. “No one’s really telling us to stay here.”

A faint air of defeat floods your shoulders, even when your favorite person offered the solution to your anxieties. You thought you’d be more confident, holding the aura of poise and elegance so many women held at these events.

Overall, it was too much. The music, the people, the cologne.

Somehow, a late night diner sounded a whole lot better the more you thought about it. Bustling bells ringing for hot plates, palate cleansing coffee flooding your nose, greasy bacon, and orange juice lacking any expensive champagne.

“Keep that pretty head high, princess.” Jason gently gives the bottom of your chin a gentle nudge with his thumb, gifting you a handsome smile.

“You showed up, that’s all that matters. I’m proud of you.”

#Jason Todd #jason todd x reader #jason todd x female!reader #jason todd x fem!reader #jason todd x y/n #jason todd x you #jason todd dc #yuhhhhhh #that one comic photo of him with champagne #yuhhhh

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midnightsxblue · 6 days

Text

WORTH IT

carl grimes x fem!reader

tags: htc, angst to fluff! warnings for death!

masterlist here!

─── ─── ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─── ─── ───

You were starting to wonder if the fighting would ever be worth it. Worth the pain, the deaths, the sacrifices. It all seemed pointless. No matter how hard you guys tried, no matter how much you planned out, Negan was always steps ahead.

He had everything. He had the people, he had guns, he had the power.

Most importantly, he had you.

The day you and Carl had broken into the sanctuary, after returning home you thought that’d be it. You would’ve paid for the price for breaking in later, all he wanted was to see Rick and take your shit and that would be that. But he wanted Eugene. And he wanted you, too. He said you were a good fighter, but most importantly you were good collateral.

You expected being held hostage by Negan would be more traumatic than it actually was. You’d expect to be locked in a room with no food or water. Turns out, they treat some of their hostages like royalty. You and Eugene were separated but you were given your own room with everything you could possibly need.

It’s almost like he wanted you to feel grateful to be there. He’d given you everything. New clothes, fresh food, some form of power so you can get whatever you want whenever. All because you’re valuable to Carl, who was valuable to Rick. They couldn’t do anything because then they’d hurt you. That’s the last thing anyone wanted. It’s the last thing Carl wanted.

It killed him, it really did. He believed you’d be treated horribly at the sanctuary and he had every reason to believe that. He did everything in his power to convince his dad to go retrieve you. And he did.

It’d been maybe a day or two after Negan had taken you and Eugene. You hadn’t seen Eugene at all since, but the morning of, you had the chance to see him in the hallway. You thought maybe there’d be a chance he’d help you with an escape plan, he’s smart. All he did was walk past you like you were nothing. You stood in the hallway appalled, like he was a completely different person.

You continue down the hallway, swallowing the lump forming in your throat from the feeling of pure helplessness as you approach the laundry room. You’d given them Carl’s flannel with all your clothes to wash when you arrived. You notice the couple of workers inside, scrubbing the clothes relentlessly. “Um…hi.” you squeak out, waiting for them to notice your presence over the loud sounds of splashing water. One of them notices you and taps the lady beside her to look at you. “S’there somethin you need?” She asks. You fiddle with your hands, trying to look around for what’s yours.

“I arrived two days ago…I’m looking for my clothes…but I don’t need them I just need my flannel back.” You explain nervously, hoping they didn’t do anything with Carl’s flannel. They sigh and look around, wiping the sweat off their faces when a woman finds it in a random basket. She wipes her hands off on herself and picks it up, wrapping it up and tossing it to you. You smile and thank them before retreating back into the hallway, grinning as you pull his blue flannel over your shoulders, feeling some sort of comfort for the first time in a couple days.

You return back to your room and just sit on the bed in there, looking around trying to think of something you can do to get out when you hear a knock on your door, followed by a voice you hate to here. Negan. “Knock-knock!” His voice is taunting. You roll your eyes and stand up, walking over to open the door to his obnoxious face. You don’t speak a word. “Well hi there.” he smiles, setting his bat against the doorframe. Your face remains flat.

“I know how hard this is on ya darlin, I do. I’m sure you’re missin eye patch back home but you gotta understand why I’m doin this.” He welcomes himself into your room, pacing a little before stopping in front of you. You still say nothing.

“Well since you insist on keepin your mouth shut I’ll just get outta your hair. Stay outta trouble, I need you alive.” He says, walking towards the door. “And please, do me a favor, stay away from Eugene. I don’t need you two plottin against me.” He smiles. When you still say absolutely nothing, he waves sarcastically.

He leaves you alone once again. You’re still unsure of what to do, but you eventually muster up the courage to walk around the Sanctuary. You have the freedom (sort of) and power to do so. You walked around and wandered outside, watching people work, transporting boxes and such. You walk around some more, kicking the rocks on the ground when you feel a glare in your eyes. Your eyebrows furrow in confusion but when you look up to the woods, you see someone. You can’t exactly make out who it is but you can tell that they’re holding a gun.

As soon as you make that realization, you hear soft popping noises, followed by the sound of bodies falling to the ground. You look around you to the men and guards working to see they’re all fallen to the ground. You have the urge to just run, but you hear a voice before you do. You turn back around to see Rick who’s cutting a hole in the wired gates.

“Cmon we need to go. Now.” He whispers loudly. You run over to him, trying to ignore the ruckus behind you of walkie-talkies wondering why no one was responding. You didn’t have much time to get out before someone noticed. You two practically sprinted to the wooded area nearby.

“Was that you?” You ask him, referencing to the glare from the woods. “It was us. But not me.” He explains as you enter the woods. You’re confused at first because what the fuck does that mean. Then it clicked that he wasn’t alone.

You walk through the woods a bit more until you reach the road, approaching a car that Carl was standing on the other side of. He notices you and immediately runs over to you, enveloping you in a big hug. He held you so tightly, all you felt in the moment was pure love. He pulls back and smiles before looking around your body.

“What?” You ask as he’s pulling up your sleeves and pushing hair out of your face, looking for any injuries. “Are you okay? They didn’t hurt you?” He looks at you confused, like he’d expected you’d come out injured.

“No they didn’t hurt me at all.” You reply, letting him hug you once more. Rick interrupts and explains the situation. “Rosita and Sasha are goin in later to get out Eugene. We’ve got other business to attend to; gotta get you to the Kingdom so they don’t go lookin at Alexandria for you.” He explains, loading his bolt cutters into the trunk. You shake your head at him, pulling away from Carl’s arms. “No. He’s too far gone. He’s one of them now.” You say with a slight sniffle. Rick doesn’t respond, he just has a sort of grim expression.

The three of you load back into the car, you and Carl sitting in the backseat so he can hold you while you drove home. He ran his fingers through your hair as you leaned onto him, occasionally kissing the top of your head. It was a peaceful ride home. You’d face the consequences later. All that mattered right now was you and Carl.

─── ─── ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─── ─── ───

a/n: writing this made me realize idk how to write fem!readers so if anyone has advice lmk :< but i hope u liked it i thought it was fun! it’s not episode accurate so pls ignore that :P

#carl grimes #carl grimes twd #twd #the walking dead #carl grimes fanfiction #carl grimes fluff #carl grimes x fem!reader #carl grimes x reader #carl grimes x y/n #carl grimes angst #carl grimes the walking dead #twd carl #twd fanfiction #fanfic

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mint-yooxgi · 10 months

Text

Longing - Yandere!Dragon!Changbin

Yandere AU & Dragon AU - First Person POV

Genre: Mature, Smutty Themes, Internal Monologue

Pairing: Changbin X Implied Chubby!Reader

Words: 1,678

Warnings: Possessive thoughts, some smutty thoughts, and some minor violent thoughts. Mentions of potential kidnapping, but nothing comes of it. This is a Yandere story, it will contain themes such as stalking, violence, obsession, possessive natures, and just general overall creepiness and swearing. You have been warned.

A/n: Again, I feel like I definitely could have made this much more feral than it is, but I think it's good! Dragon Binnie is just a softie at heart, but maybe that's just me hehehe anyways, Feedback is greatly appreciated! Enjoy!~

The Ninth of The Feral Drabbles

That human… Why does he even bother? Doesn’t he know that you’re mine?

The only thing worse than seeing how desperate this imbecile is in getting your attention, is knowing that you fall for it. Every. Single. Time.

Why does somebody as pathetic as him get to love you, and why- why, why, why, why, do you love him back?

I’ve known you for longer, but perhaps it’s the fact that I’ve waited so long to insert myself into your life that you don’t realize what’s right in front of you. I have always been ready and willing to serve you, to love you at a moment’s notice. Yet, none of that seems to matter to you. It’s so frustrating.

No, you would rather be with a mortal who can’t even protect you properly against his friends. He doesn’t stick up for you. He doesn’t defend your honour when they make nasty, pretentious comments against you, right in front of both of your faces. He lets them walk all over you, and does nothing about it!

Believe me, My Jewel, there have been a few times where I’ve had to strongly resist the urge to tear his throat out for remaining silent when those comments clearly affect you so negatively. I see the way you retreat into that shell of yours, one which I long to break you out of. You never have to worry about being too much, or too loud when you’re around me. Anyone who says otherwise will be fried to a crisp.

You should be showered in praise, not hid in a corner and talked down to in order to please others.

Come to me, My Jewel. I will let you shine. I will make you shine.

I just wish you weren’t so guarded around me.

Did I come on too strong? Am I too boisterous?

I thought that’s what you liked…

It must be him. He is the one telling you to stay away from me. He is the one keeping us apart, after all.

Oh, how I long to tear that bastard limb from limb. Only, that would make you upset, wouldn’t it? I would hate to be the reason that My Jewel loses her sheen, even if you aren’t aware of it. The guilt alone would eat me alive. Besides, it’s not like you don’t love him.

I hate that. More than anything.

The fact that your love is wasted on someone so weak, someone so… undeserving makes me sick.

I have spent countless days and nights preparing for our life together, only for this bastard to steal you away from me. I cleaned my hoard. I rearranged the furniture. Hell, I even started decorating our nest with more things that I know you like. Only, my efforts were all in vain.

I wasn’t quick enough.

Do you not see the way I look at you? I know he does, and I know that he’s threatened by it. I am one of the strongest dragons in this territory, and I am not afraid to assert my dominance over him if need be.

I could take you by force. After all, dragons are notorious for stealing that which they desire most, especially when they wish to add such beauty to their collections. Only, I can’t bring myself to do that to you. I’m not like that, and I don’t want you to despise me. If you’re going to want me, it will be of your own free will, not because I’ve forced you to.

Which is why my situation frustrates me to no end. So badly do I want to tear you away from that no good, disgusting, vile - well, you get the point - man. However, I also know that it would devastate you. I need you to leave him of your own volition, not because I ate him in a fit of jealous rage.

Oh, how I’ve longed to torment him, too. He stole you away from me, and despite how I pride myself on how civil I can be, I have never wanted to lose control so badly before. It would be so easy, too. I could even make it look like an accident…

I won’t lie, I have thought about the various ways in which I could torment and torture him for what he’s done to us. Sometimes, those thoughts help me fall asleep, but then I picture you resting in my arms, and I manage to calm myself down.

You just have that affect on me. You make me want to be better - do better. I want to make you happy, and I will. I promise you that.

Eventually.

I’m working on a plan to help drive you into my arms, and after what I witnessed tonight, I’ll be putting it into motion much sooner, rather than later.

I almost lost my temper tonight, My Jewel. Something that has not happened to me in years. However, seeing that- that- that thing with his hands all over you drove me insane.

Doesn’t he know not to touch the art? Priceless artifacts are meant to be shown off and displayed, not for grimy hands to smear dirt all over their beauty.

Well, unless you’re a dragon like me. Then, it’s okay. At least I know how to take care of treasure, and that’s exactly what you are, Jewel. You are the finest treasure this world has ever seen, and I will spend every day of the rest of our lives proving that to you.

Though, please don’t think I view you as some kind of trophy. I may consider you to be the greatest Jewel in my collection, but that does not mean I see you as an object. I wouldn’t be going to such great lengths to have you if I did, and I never want you to think that. I don’t own you, but I will admit, long since have I desired to be able to call you mine. I desperately want you to call me yours, too.

I will protect you. I will provide for you. Anything and everything that you could ever dream of. I want to make all of your dreams come true, and then some. You honestly have no idea what you mean to me, what you do to me. So badly, I want to spend time with each other, getting to know every minuscule detail about the other’s interests and hobbies. Then, I want to partake in them all with you.

You, and you alone.

There is nothing I desire more than your happiness, and I know for a fact that you will find the greatest joy when you’re with me.

Honestly, My Jewel, when it comes down to it, I desperately long to please you. In any and every way I can. In every and any way imaginable.

I want to cook for you. I want to cook with you, and see you smile at me when I eventually fuck up the recipe because despite my best efforts, I am a horrible cook. They say it’s the thought that counts, though, right?

I want to go for walks together, exploring places you could never have thought up even in your wildest dreams. I want to show you my hoard, and let you pick out the finest of gems so I can make you a crown, a necklace, a ring. Anything to have you shining like the Jewel I know you are.

More than all of that, though, I want everyone to know that you’re mine, and I’m yours.

I want to please you in every intimate, intricate way you’ll let me. I adore you, My Jewel, and I just wish that you could see that.

I certainly adore you more than he does.

Does he even know how to please another person? Fuck, I was getting so heated watching his pitiful attempts to bring you pleasure. Even I could tell you were faking it.

Don’t you know you’d never have to fake anything with me? I would kill to be able to touch you, My Jewel. I have long since desired to learn every aspect of your body so that only I can be able to bring you the utmost pleasure in the most intimate of ways.

Let me get lost in the heat that radiates from between your legs. Let me spend hours licking at every part of you, until the only thing you can think about is the way my tongue feels on your skin. I want my name to be the only thing you can utter from those sinful lips of your, moaning praises meant for me and me alone.

Let me roam my hands all over that delectable body of yours. Let me carve my marks into your skin, so that everyone will know who has loved you in the most fulfilling of ways. I long to know what your body feels like pressing against my own, your arms wrapped around my back as your hands pull me in closer. I want your nails carving your own marks into my skin, claiming me as your own.

I’d let you see my wings. Hell, I’d even let you touch them as I’m making love to you. Maybe I’ll even tease you with my fangs, and my claws. A little bit of danger which in the throws of passionate loving never hurt anyone. Besides, I believe it would make things a bit more thrilling, don’t you?

Please, My Jewel, let me fulfill our greatest desires as one. Let me claim you as my own, and mark you with the most sacred of intimacies I know how. I promise you’ll never know fear, you’ll never know doubt. Only happiness, and an unquestionable, unshakable loyalty and love from the one who has always been desperately devoted to you from the start. The one who has been longing for your embrace far before I even knew what this feeling bursting inside of my chest was.

Please, just let me love you.

#cultofdionysusnet #yandere changbin #changbin smut #changbin scenario #stray kids smut #yandere stray kids #yandere skz #skz smut #skz scenarios #stray kids scenario #kpop scenario #kpop smut #yandere kpop #kpop au #dragon au #chubby reader

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lucyandthepen · 9 months

Text

last eden - i . | lmh

part i, ii, iii

only one thing has ever mattered to you, in this lifetime, and in all others : mark lee — even if he doesn't know yet, and even if he may never remember.

pairing: mark x reader verse: canon/idol!verse, soulmates trope rating: T warnings: none, possibly some mild language, like... one very tame mention of making love ig word count: 4.3k

A/N: yeah i have a lot of these fics that i'm repurposing that i desperately want to post so i can continue them so please look the other way at my random over enthusiasm i beg !! my only long-standing mark fic is actually gorgeous, and while we do love a good raunchy piece, i love mark way too much to keep it to just that. this was my first ever fic on my old blog, and i'm quite attached to the idea despite the fact that it's actually very difficult for me to write. i changed the name because i actually love this song by maktub (anything he puts out is gold to me), which i think generally fits the vibe of the story, so give it a listen if you're interested! so i hope you all enjoy this idol!verse soulmates fic! (help a gal out by reblogging, liking, and leaving a few kind words if you're so inclined!)

“This isn’t really your best idea.”

You know this. You’re fully aware of the possible and endless risks as well as the minimal benefits. But you have to go. The thing that Heehyeon, your roommate, doesn’t fully understand is that this could be your one and only shot, and it could mean life or death. And you know that sounds pretty dramatic, but it really is. you don’t really have all the details (when, where, how, the important stuff) but that doesn’t matter to you right now.

What really matters is that today is NCT’s comeback stage at M! Countdown, and you have to be there.

Unfortunately, this isn’t one of those things you have to go to because your a die-hard fan and you just have to support the group and do all those fan chants and lie to your mom about going to the library when you’re really staying over outside a company building for hours just to wave those silly, expensive light sticks that look like they came out of the factory a bit funny. Sure, NCT’s music was nice (enough), but that isn’t really the reason why you told your mom not to come over this weekend because you would be out on a company team building retreat (as if they actually do that). More than anything, you knew you had to take this chance to see him.

When you don’t respond, Heehyeon presses on with a firmer tone, as if she’s determined to convince you even though you both know nothing is really going to stop you at this point.

“Listen to me, _____________. You are going to a tightly-packed music show with at least a hundred other fans, and you are going to stand in the middle of that dense crowd and — and what? Stare up at him. That’s it. He’s not going to see you; that stage is so high up he’ll probably only catch a look at your forehead, and that’s if you make it up front. And since we both know you’re neither the tallest nor the luckiest person in the world, you know the odds are against you. You’re probably going to get pushed to the back, or stampeded, and it’s going to be messy, and you’re going to push, and they’re going to push you back, and your make-up is going to fall apart, or whatever. Is this really worth it?”

“I told you,” you try to sound patient, but the idea of being buffeted away from the stage by a large wave of sweaty bodies causes more discomfort than you had originally anticipated thanks to her colorful and supremely unhelpful description. “If being near the stage doesn’t work out, I’ll wait out back, near the exit, and —“

“Oh yeah, and ambush him. Because you’ll be the only one there, and because that’s totally safe.” She drops the slightly (well, pretty) judgmental tone when she sees your bottom lip quiver. “I’m not… I’m not saying you shouldn’t try to reach out to him. But this doesn’t sound like the best way, _____________. Security is so tight there, and NCT’s security is even more wary. Even if you do manage to get close, what in the world are you going to say?”

“I— I’ll figure it out once I’m there.” You purse your lips; surely I love you; we’re meant to be together wouldn’t be that hard on your end, but the more important question is: did it sound sane? You didn’t express this doubt, though. Doing so would give your roommate more ammunition to turn back at you; you’d play it by ear when you actually got around to making eye contact with him (if that ever happened at all). And — well, maybe you wouldn’t have to say anything. Maybe, just maybe, this time, he’d remember you.

At that thought, you feel an initial wave of laughter, closely followed by a second, much more painful wave of nausea. Of all the absurd things you could think of, that was probably the most ridiculous.

“This isn’t a good idea,” she recapitulates, shaking her head. “You know what they do to people who stalk idols and say they’re really going to get married to them, or whatever. You know what they’d call you.”

“But I’m not crazy like that,” you argue.

“I know that, but they don’t know anything about you! You’d be labeled a sasaeng. They’ll probably think you’re one of those girls that sneak into their dorms and sniff their underwear before selling them on the dark side of Taobao through a weird Chinese proxy or something.”

“Well, what am I supposed to do?” You ball your fists at your side, feeling a little betrayed. Heehyeon, of all people, should be able to understand why you had to do this, even if it was ludicrous. She had remembered you, reached out to you before you could even place her. She’d heard your story, understood that you had been waiting years for this moment, even stopped you on other occasions when you were about to do the same thing you were planning now, saying it wasn’t the right time. “I don’t have any other way of contacting him. I don’t even know if this is going to work, but you know I have to try, and I feel like this is the right time. I have to see him. I have to — I have to be with him. I don’t need your blessing to go, you know.”

There’s a palpable tension hanging over you now, and Heehyeon’s expression has gone mostly unreadable, save for that twinge of worry still present in her gaze. The soft sound of regular, heavy exhales punctuate every few seconds that pass, and you realize a little later that it’s your breathing, which has turned a bit heavy from the energy spent sort-of yelling at your roommate.

“I know that,” she finally sighs. “I know that, _____________. I just wish you used a different way. Like, a safer, less crazy one.”

“I would use one if there were one.” You frown. “I’m not going to do anything stupid, like attack him. I would never do that.”

She doesn’t say much anymore, opting to watch you instead as you stuff a few more essential things in your bag. A hat. A fan. a bottle of water. Heehyeon had tried to coerce you to buy one of those cheering kits with those slogans, but you didn’t want to waste your money on it, and, truthfully, you didn’t want his name hanging on your walls like some sick reminder in case he rejected you.

“What did you tell your manager?” She asks in a clear attempt to lighten the mood.

“I told her I was sick. You know she never really asks as long as I find someone to substitute for me,” you sling your bag over your shoulder, standing straighter. “How do I look?”

“Pretty damn healthy,” she notes. “But also kind of crazy.”

“I’ll see you tonight, Heehyeon,” you roll your eyes as you make your way out of the room. Before you close the door, she makes one last quick remark.

“Not if I see you on the evening news first!”

You have to take two buses to get to Sangamsan-ro. Even though the traffic is generally mild, the buses make too many stops and wait too long for old ladies with their fruit baskets and newspapers to get on. The wait is making you anxious, and you think about getting an orange to abate your growing hunger, but you’re also so nervous that you’re sure you’re going to spew it all out onto the bus floor anyway. So, you content yourself with listening to music and fiddling with your fingers in your lap.

All you have in your phone is NCT’s music. The files were so large that you’d had to delete everything else you used to listen to and a handful of pictures too (mostly selfies that would have never seen the light of day, anyway) just to get them to fit. You used to only listen to the Korean versions, but you’d found all these little nuances in how Mark raps his lines depending on the language, so you’d started listening to the English and Japanese releases too, even though you can’t understand a lick of anything but ‘baby.’ Most of the time, you skip over to the relevant (see: Mark-filled) parts, already having memorized their timestamps to a kind of sick degree.

It was kind of dumb, and sort of selfish, but you had never really identified yourself as an NCT fan anyway. If you had been an active part of the groups following, people would have probably called you an akgae. You were really only concerned with one member, and it was that member’s voice that filled your ears when you’d plugged your earbuds in and put the volume up.

The first time you’d seen him was in your last year of college. One of your college friends had asked you to accompany them to a Nature Republic outlet downtown. Despite your general lack of interest in make-up at that point in time, you’d gone because she’d promised to buy you a corndog. What you’d gotten instead was a large standee of a handsome guy smiling at you and holding out a pot of aloe vera gel.

You knew his eyes. Even though his features changed a million times in your memory, you could never mistake his eyes for anyone else’s — soft, warm, brown eyes that you’d stared into for truly an eternity. His were eyes you could never forget, were never allowed to forget. You could remember the millions of times they’d smiled up at you in those past lives you were haunted with, twinkled with mischief and laughter in your presence, borne deep into yours on hot summer nights as you made love. Of all the uncertain things in all of the lives you remembered living, these eyes acted as your anchor.

You’d almost forgotten you were there with a friend until she’d called out to you, telling you to step inside the shop. Trying to sound disinterested despite the fact that your heart was pounding, you asked who the guy in the standee was. Mark, she’d called him. Mark of NCT. He was an idol, a rapper in one of those up and coming groups that was starting to gain a lot of attention within the general public because of their ‘cool, chic concepts.’ At that information, your heart had fallen into a pool of acid in your stomach.

Other times were hard, but not this hard. Most of the factors that had kept you or torn you apart were much larger in scale — war, famine, other natural disasters. This, out of all the other times, seemed to be the most difficult; he wasn’t an ordinary man anymore, but a god among men — a god you couldn’t be allowed to approach. You had ditched your friend the moment she’d gotten her change back at the counter, citing a sudden time of the month as the root cause, and dashed out and back to school, sparing only one last glance at the standee.

You’d been waiting for him for years, carefully looking for any sign of him in the people around you, but you had grown tired and had come to believe that maybe, in this life, you had been set free — that he didn’t exist, and the curse would be over. However, as you pored over each and every teaser, music video, advertisement, and blurry, noise-heavy radio interview you could find even a sliver of his face in, you realized that the curse had come back, and in a much larger force than you could ever imagine.

You’d stared at your desk for the longest time that day; the sun had dipped out of sight already when you’d sighed yourself out of your trance. It had never been this difficult. Having the Memory was mostly the worst thing ever, but its usual perk was that you could pick him out a little easier, and he was never too far away — nobody you ever knew in your first life ever was. They just kept coming up again and again, running around in little circles throughout time and space, and you recognized them in a way you’ve come to grow familiar with. It’s a tug, sort of like a tickle in your stomach, and you knew then that he was close by. The signal only stopped when you found him, and it usually wasn’t that hard. From there, you were responsible for weaving the same kind of story — one in which you would fall in love, be happy for a period of time, and then… well.

Heehyeon has the Memory, too. She’d remembered you from a previous life, too, and picked you out of a packed line at a coffee shop, striking up one of the most awkward conversations you’d ever had the displeasure of being a part of because she hadn’t been sure if you remembered her. It was only when she mentioned that you seemed like someone she could be good friends with and that you also seemed like you just happened to like your coffee black with two sugars did you realize that her sudden onslaught of friendliness was a sign she might be like you: unable to forget. She’d actually once asked you if you’d tried just letting him go, and you’d responded with a resolute no. At this point, it was too hard to call him a lost cause, even if he really seemed it. How could you stop loving someone you know you’ve loved for millennia?

He’s extremely handsome in this life, you’ve noted. Girls were falling all over him, which only made things ten times harder. A couple of years back, some rumors of him dating a labelmate had come up. Heehyeon had talked you through that long night of you clutching tissues in a fist and sobbing about how you didn’t want this anymore, how it was never fair, how every single time you had to find him was just growing more and more difficult until it seemed to reach an impossible arc. But, mostly, you’d cried because you hated the possibility — probably the confirmation — that he didn’t remember you at all.

You didn’t really expect him to, but you always hoped. Every life, you would approach him, and he would be a clean slate. It was a tiring process, one you wished you weren’t constantly responsible for. Some days, you resented him; how could he live his life carefree, without even the notion that you two were meant to be together? Most days, though, you just longed for him. Him, and a happy ending.

You let out a sigh as the track changes. His voice greets you again; over time, you’ve noticed it sounding even cooler, more impactful. He’s doing well for himself. And here you are, attempting to make yourself stand out in a pool of fans he probably can’t even see clearly. Nice.

You get to listen to about half of the newly released album before you realize you’re nearing your stop. Sidestepping a couple of baskets of oranges, you make it to the door and dash out. Heehyeon had drawn you a crude map to CJ E&M, and you’d been skeptical of it at first, but you realize now you would have gotten lost and missed the stage long before you got there if you had gone in blind. You’d make sure to thank her when you got back. If you did actually come back in one piece.

Heehyeon also hadn’t been joking; the line outside looks like it would fill a whole section of Jamsil. You’d heard of the dedication of some of these fans, but you’d never seen it like this, nor had you ever actually been a part of it. Kids were really up at three in the morning in support of NCT. Many of them are probably here specifically in support of Mark, you think. Sure enough, the people you line up behind are holding holographic slogans with the print “Mark-yah!” You swallow hard, trying not to regret your decision not to partake in that.

It feels like hours before you get even close to the door of the building. The chatter has died down a little, but not by much; even with less people ahead of you, the noise pollution increases in tandem with the excitement in the atmosphere. You’re not excited, though. You’re sick to your stomach, wishing you hadn’t come alone and wondering if you were going to regret this. Probably. Luckily, a couple of teenagers behind you strike up a casual conversation starting with “ah, it’s getting more humid now,” and you take turns complaining about what the weather would probably be like later on in the day before you start talking about NCT. They’re both Jaehyun fans, and you think about whether or not you remember meeting him in a past life. Nothing really rings a bell.

When you tell them you’re here for Mark, they giggle.

“We know,” they chime. “You’re wearing blue.”

“It’s his favorite color,” you say, a little defensively.

“Everyone knows that. Everyone here wearing that ocean blue is a Mark fan. Didn’t he say so once?” They dissolve into laughter again, but you say nothing. Maybe he had said that recently. Then again, his favorite color has always been blue — the color of the sky and the sea he seems to love so much.

The line grows shorter and shorter, and your ankles feel like they’re starting to swell. You’ve been standing for a good two hours now, and you regret not having bought one of those NCT membership cards that get you up to the front of the line. It’s really no surprise that you, the two Jaehyun fans, and the others in the line behind you are all squished in the back, just like Heehyeon had said you would be. It takes a good twenty minutes before the lights dim down and the stage lights start up, and you hear the buzz that increases in volume right before it becomes a collective deafening shriek from the crowd. The light sticks go up, and you’re momentarily blinded by the large stars that blink NCT in some weird logo form before you get your bearings again. By that time, the members have begun trooping onto the stage in a single file, and you forget your swollen ankles as you tiptoe and crane your head for a better view.

He’s there, your mind screams. He’s right there. You’ve got a whole crowd in front of you, but he’s right there.

The Jaehyun fans are losing their mind too; he’s talking, asking them how they found the album and encouraging them to keep supporting it. Typical idol stuff, you assume, but the fans go wild in an attempt to reassure him that they will. They all speak in a line, and you note Mark will be last. When the mic is handed over to him, the fans start screaming again. You feel like you want to yell as well, except you’re not sure if you’ll say something actually coherent that other people will hear. Instead, you tiptoe a little higher, fixing your pretty bad eyesight on his face and perking your ears up.

“You’re all here so early,” he starts. “How long have you been waiting for us?”

A flurry of numbers fly across the room. He smiles in this genuinely affectionate way even though his eyes can’t focus on a single person in the dark, and your heart stutters at the sight.

“Do your mothers know you’re here?” He’s teasing now. “You can’t tell them that NCT is the reason you’re not sleeping well, you know. Everyone, make sure that you eat breakfast and rest well before school today, okay?”

While the crowd screams in response, you let out a little whimper. It’s a weak, pathetic sound, but it essentially sums up how you feel, seeing him like this from so far away.

The pre-recording starts, but you barely catch anything. You’re too small for this kind of life, and you get so tired of tiptoeing that you actually do try to push your way through the crowd. Of course, this is fruitless, and you end up squatting by the back wall of the room, sipping on your water conservatively and listening to the Jaehyun fans do the chant religiously.

NCT performs the song two more times before they’re saying their goodbyes. You muster up the energy to stand again and make a beeline for the exit before everyone else can smash their way through. The sun is almost up now; beads of sweat form on the nape of your neck as you round the building, trying to find the indicated spot that Heehyeon had marked as the back exit of CJ E&M. You worry about how you’re in the wrong place for about ten minutes until you see the two Jaehyun fans turning the corner quickly, obviously with the same goal as you: to catch NCT as they leave the building.

In no time, the fans have gathered at the spot again, and it seems like they’ve multiplied tenfold; the chants are louder and there are girls with gigantic cameras trying to shove you away from the spot. Security from the company camps out in front of you, their gazes shifting from the door to the crowd and back again.

People around you roar the moment the doorknob turns. Nine of them file out, now in regular clothing, surrounded by their own security. You feel a surge of force behind you, trying to push forward, and someone’s camera lens hits you hard in the side of the face. You barely have time to cry out in surprise, caught in what would have been a scream of pain, when you see him.

In the growing light, Mark looks like a king. No — like a god, actually. Everything on his face shines even when minimal sunlight strikes it; his teeth help, too, brightening his face as his mouth hangs open in an easy laugh. He’s talking to Doyoung and has to face him, his sharp jawline being the first thing anyone can see from that perspective, and it’s that angle that creates all these alarms in your head.

For some reason, you’ve blocked out the noise around you. Even the pain from the camera lens attack isn’t bothering you as much anymore; you feel like you’re in an aquarium, and all the screams are on the other side of the glass. Your vision tunnels; all you can see is him.

You’d promised Heehyeon you wouldn’t do anything stupid. Again and again, she’d asked you and drilled you and reminded you that you weren’t supposed to do anything that would get you into trouble. Even with those promises you’d made, she’d still doubted you. Later, when you’d tell her this story, she’d roll her eyes and yell I told you so!, because, well, she did tell you. And, when you’d look at it in retrospect, you’d see that you should have listened.

Right now, though, you’re walking. Somehow, the camera lens that had attacked you had turned its gaze onto much more important targets; the guard stationed in front of you grunted in pain and reflexively retracted his hand after the lens made contact with it. It wasn’t a long movement, but it was enough for you to be pushed forward by the crowd. Enough to get your feet moving.

Other fans had stopped trying to break through; though many were still hysterical, most were trying to take pictures of the members as they climbed into the van. One by one, they were disappearing before your eyes. No, you thought to yourself. Your chest tightened. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you think that the noise behind you has gotten much louder. Not now. He hasn’t seen me yet. Not yet, please.

You don’t realize that your feet have picked up the pace, and you’ve broken into a short sprint before the building security could catch you. It’s too late; he can’t leave his post, and he only has to hope that NCT’s staff are well-equipped to fend off a running girl. They are, but they’re too busy helping the members that they’re caught unaware — just long enough for you to be within an arm’s reach of them.

Mark is almost in the van; he’s caught off-guard, too, and he doesn’t realize that something’s not right until you’re already there. Security grabs his arm and tries to tug him out of your reach and into the van at the same time that a strong hand grapples at the back of your shirt. Doyoung, who had been by Mark’s side, tries to use his arms to shield you from his friend when he realizes who you are targeting, yelling out something you can’t really understand.

It’s a ten-second long struggle of limbs in which you hear your own “Let go of me!” harmonize perfectly with Mark’s frantic “What the —?” Somehow, though, you’re able to fight through Doyoung’s arms and grip Mark’s wrist with a sweaty palm. The contact causes him to turn back reflexively, eyes wide in shock.

His eyes. God, please, won’t he recognize me? Your fingers close around his wrist a little more tightly. Your mouth is dry, and your throat is on fire. You’re wasting precious time. You only manage out a weak, “Please, Mark, it’s me,” before he’s twisting his wrist away. The arm that gripped your shirt moves to lock around your waist, and you’re hauled, empty-handed, away from the van. Awareness you’d lost slowly trickles back into you. The crowd isn’t screaming at the members now; they’re screaming at you. They’re angry. As you’re dragged away, you vaguely note that the Jaehyun fans you were with are fuming behind the security guards still keeping them in place.

The security guard that carried you off like a rag doll plants you in front of him, and he lets go of your waist but still keeps his grip tight around both your forearms, which have been twisted behind you. You have no choice but to watch from afar as the members drag Mark into the van, looks of concern etched across their faces. They ask him if he’s hurt, and he shakes his head. Right before the door closes, he quickly glances back at you. Your heart sinks for the second time today as you see something in his eyes you’d never seen before.

Fear. Mark is afraid of you.

242 notes · View notes

cherrycocaineee · 1 year

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31. Dally Winston - Red Hair

*Warning: fluff, cussing, bullying, whatever else is considered a warning.*

Synopsis: Your red hair makes you a constant target for bullying because of its color. Though you try to pretend that it doesn’t bother you, you’ve started to change and Dallas Winston is the only one who’s noticed. When Dally witnesses a group of Socs tugging and harassing you about your red hair, he steps in to protect you.

*Your p.o.v*

Getting up for school was harder than you ever imagined it would be; your once relaxing, euphoric morning ritual was now tainted with anxious fear of what today would hold for you. And while on the outside you looked unbothered by the constant harassment of your peers, on the inside you felt disgusting and ugly. Their words had you looking in the mirror teetering between dying your hair or dropping out of school permanently; sometimes you found yourself playing with a single strand thinking about the color. It was red, a copper red to be exact, and for some reason everyone at school found it hilarious. “Darling,” your mother’s sweet voice rang as she opened your bedroom door, “you’ll be late if you don’t get a move on it.” “Mom,” you hummed, pleadingly, “do you think I can stay home today?” Smiling endearingly, your mom glided over to you gracefully before sitting down beside you. Her movements caused you to push your body into an upright position, pulling your knees against your chest. “Is there a reason you aren’t wanting to go to school today?” She questioned. Since the bullying started, you hadn’t really told anyone about it; the only two people who did know about it were Ponyboy Curtis and Johnny Cade, and you had made them promise not to tell anyone. You claimed that it was just them being childish and that it was nothing you couldn’t handle, but really you didn’t want to be a bother to anyone. It just didn’t seem like their problem to deal with. “I’m just a little tired today,” you lied, “haven’t really been getting enough sleep.” She eyed you for a moment as if trying to find any clues that would tell her you were lying; she was your mother after all, and she knew when there was something going on with her baby. But she also knew not to press, that doing so would only cause you to retreat more into your shell. “I supposed it wouldn’t hurt to keep you home this one time,” she stated, “it’s only Friday, so it’s not like you’ll miss too much. Try to rest."

Nodding your head, you tuck yourself back into your comforter while your mom heads back to the kitchen. Telling from the smell of bacon wafting through your bedroom, you knew your mother was cooking breakfast. Slowly, you fell back asleep relieved that you finally had a day of peace. Hours passed and you were awake again, this time feeling much better than you had earlier this morning. Even though being tired was a lie, it seemed your body actually needed a break. Fortunately, both your parents were at work leaving you alone at the house. There was a note on the fridge letting you know that there was left over breakfast inside the microwave for you. And all of a sudden you felt insatiably hungry, only noticing now that you probably hadn’t been eating as much as you should have. All of this because of your hair. Ridiculous! You’ve never been an insecure person, so why did it bother you so much that people found your red hair amusing? Shaking the thoughts from your head, you pulled out the plate of food and set it on the table before grabbing the juice from the fridge. Just as you grabbed a cup from the cabinet, there was a knock on your front door. It couldn’t have been Ponyboy or Johnny, they were still in school. You walked over to the front door, still gripping the glass in your nimble fingers, and pulled the door open. Standing on the other side was Dallas Winston, one of your other, older friends. Your parents didn’t approve of your friends, their only saving grace being that Darry was a responsible adult who assured them you’d be taken care of. And they held him to that, always popping by randomly to check in on you. Dally let his finished cigarette fall to the ground, putting out the flash of orange with his foot. “Dally?” You quizzed, your head tilted curiously to the side, “what are you doing here?” “Got a call from Ponyboy and Johnny,” he said, his voice smooth, “said you didn’t make it to school, so I came to check on you.” “You really didn’t need to do that. I was just extra tired, so I stayed home.” He eyed you suspiciously and that left you wondering if you were that easy to read, if you weren’t as bottled up as you had hoped. The thought left you nibbling on your bottom lip afraid that they knew more than you wanted them to.

“Well how about some fresh air?” He asked, “maybe it’ll be good for ya, you’re looking a bit bloodless.” As quickly as he said that, your hand reached up and touched your cheek. A smile appeared on your face as you nodded. “I guess that would be okay. I’ve just got to finish my breakfast and get dressed.” Dally nodded his head and you gestured him inside which he gladly accepted. After breakfast, you got dressed for the day and met Dally back in the kitchen. He was staring at some photos your mom had hanging on the fridge, most of them were family photos ranging from the time that you were six. “Ready?” You asked. “Yep, let’s get going.” It was a beautiful day outside, the sun was shining brightly in the sky above you, a quiet breeze rustled your hair a bit with each blow, the smell of freshly mown grass touched your nostrils and filled your senses. Everything seemed to be looking up for you; no bullying, no stress, no worries. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Dally pull out another cigarette. You remembered the time you had told him to slow down because he was smoking too much but now you worried that you came off too judgemental. Maybe he didn’t appreciate the helpful advice, maybe Dally saw it as you trying to boss him around, or bully him. You never wanted to make your friends feel like that, especially having gone through it yourself, you just cared about them so much. Dally must have noticed your longing glance because he pulled his cigarette out. “Sorry, I know you told me to slow down but…” “No,” you said hurriedly, “smoke as much as you want. Please, don’t listen to me! I didn’t mean to nag you about it.” Your sudden outburst made him arch his eyebrow. “What’s gotten into you?” He quizzed, shoving his cigarette into his mouth. “Nothing. I just don’t think you should feel pressured to do something you don’t want to do.” It was quiet for a moment, and for a second you felt that you had gotten your point across without exposing so much. However, by now, you should have known that all of your friends, specifically Dally, knew you better than anyone has ever known you. So you weren’t surprised when the next thing came out of his mouth.

“Have you been feeling pressured to do something you aren’t into?” It wasn’t so much as being pressured to do something, it was just constant teasing that was pressuring you to hide yourself from your fellow peers at school. “No,” you lied, hoping that it would deter him from asking anymore questions. “You are a terrible liar,” he hummed, smoke pushing past his chapped lips. He wasn’t wrong. Any time you lied, everyone knew it was just that: a lie. But despite him calling you out, you didn’t give him the real reason as to why you were acting funny. How would he react? Would you be bothersome to him, like you felt you would be? Would he start a fight with all of the people who were bullying you, get himself in trouble? There were so many possible outcomes whizzing through your pounding brain that it was starting to make you dizzy like you were drunk. Luckily, he didn’t say anything else about it and instead took the two of you to Dairy Queen and bought the two of use some Blizzards. Silence overcame the two of you as both of you dug into your sweet, summer treat. It wasn’t an awkward silence, more of a relaxing silence; one that you both seemed to welcome. Dally definitely knew you but you also knew him, and judging by the stare in his eyes he was thinking something over. So it seemed that the two of you were both dealing with something. For a while, everything seemed to be going smoothly; the two of you had started a conversation, Dally listening intently as one could as you explained the book you were reading. It seemed like nothing could ruin your day. “Ah, there she is.” The voice that came behind you sent a stinging chill running up your spine, a light shiver visibly stirring you. Standing behind you were the four Socs that typically picked on you at school; whether it was making disgusting comments about your hair matching downstairs, pulling on your hair pretty harshly and making some sleazy joke about your pain tolerance, or a stupid insult that you’ve heard a million times like whether or not you had a soul. You thought that you had escaped it, at least today. Today was what you needed to reboot your strength before going back to school tomorrow. “We missed you at school today,” one, who’s name was Billy, chirped while wrapping an arm around your shoulder. You wiggled out of his grasp.

“Leave her alone,” Dally snarled, a piercing glare stabbing into the Socs. “Mind your business, Greaser,” Billy huffed, causing his friends to laugh, “we’re just having some fun with our little redhead.” As quickly as those words came out of his mouth, you were out of your seat ready to leave. Dally got the hint too and stood with you. “Oh come one,” another, his name being Dylan, laughed, “what’s the matter red? We’re just messing around.” And it all seemed to happen so fast. All of the name calling, the shoving, the pulling, everything. Once again, you found yourself dizzy and unbalanced but this time it didn’t feel like a drunk feeling. The feeling was almost like you were suffocating. “Awh poor little red riding hood,” they mocked. Fat, overwhelming tears pooled in the corner of your eyes as you held your hands over your head. You felt someone tug your hair roughly causing a sharp yelp to escape you. Over their screaming and taunts in public, you could hear Dally trying to pull you away from them desperately. But what did it, what pushed you over the edge was one of the boys grabbing a big chunk of your hair and cutting it off with a pocket knife. Their laughs were deafening. “Maybe we should cut all of your hair off. You’ll look less hideous without it.” Those pooling, fat tears flooded your cheeks blurring your vision as you quietly sobbed, putting your hands in front of your face to hide it. When your tears became stains on your cheeks, you looked up to see Dally pounding Billy, the Soc who had cut your hair. The other two had taken off running; bystanders were too afraid to do anything, trying to keep to themselves. Billy’s face was starting to get too bloody, so you intervened; grabbing Dally’s shoulder, you pulled him off and cried for him to stop. His dark brown eyes flickered over to you, his bloodshot, wild eyes stared into your watery ones. The look on your face was enough to soften his, and even though he was beyond fucking pissed, he found the willpower to pull himself off of his victim. Wiping his bloodied hand off on his jeans, he reached over and grabbed your hand, pulling you away from Billy who was slowly getting up to his feet and holding his nose. He only glared, he didn’t make a move towards you or Dally. You now sat on the Curtis’s porch steps playing with the part of your hair that was cut. Dally, who knew where they hid the spare key, was inside washing his hands. You knew that once he was finished, he’d have some questions for you but you really didn’t feel up to answering them. This was the worst the bullying had ever gotten physically. Now they were starting to cut your hair, and you couldn’t help but wonder if you had let the bullying go too far. Maybe you should have told someone, then maybe you wouldn’t have been sitting on these steps cradling your butchered hair. “You better not be blaming your damn self for what happened.”

Dally plopped himself down beside you, a fresh cigarette dangling from in between his lips. “Sometimes it’s a little concerning how well you know me,” you joked, trying to lighten the mood. “Yeah, well not enough if I couldn’t pick up on you being bullied. Why didn’t you tell anyone?” There was disappointment, possibly a little bit of anger, written all over Dally’s face which made you feel even worse than you already felt. “Ponyboy and Johnny knew…” “Those asshole knew and didn’t fucking say anything?” “I told them not to say anything,” you fought, “I didn’t want anyone to worry about me. I didn’t want to be a burden to anyone.” Dally’s face twisted into something besides anger, it was concerned and disheartened. He reached over and touched your chopped up hair with his scarred up hand, his fingers played with the uneven pieces delicately. “You aren’t a burden,” he assured, “you’re our friend. We care about you, I care about you.” “I know but you guys are able to fight your own battles, handle things that are bothering you without running for help. I didn’t want any of you to think that maybe allowing a sensitive, little…” “Hey, we handle things with our fist especially me,” Dally said, “we beat the shit out of our problems. We know what you are, and that’s what we love about you.” He moved closer, his outer leg touching your outer leg. “It’s what I love about you. I love that you're sensitive, I love that you're caring, generous, and bubbly. It makes my whole body buzz with happiness. So if someone’s bullying you, I need to know so I can handle it.” Dally reached over and took your hand with his, using his other hand to remove his half cigarette from his mouth and throw it across the yard. He knew you hated smoke. But you couldn’t even focus on the smoke or the cigarette, your eyes were glued to his hand entangled with yours. It was a loving, caring gesture that Dally wasn’t known for. He was an ass, a flirt, a brute, the complete opposite of loving and sentimental. “Is there something wrong with you?” You asked, quizzically, “are you sick?” “Why?” He questioned. You looked back down at your hands as if your question was obvious. When he didn’t seem to catch the hint, you continued.

“You’re just not normally like this; so sweet and soft spoken.” A quiet chuckle left his lips, his eyes looking away from you as if the reasoning for it was embarrassing. Another abnormal trait of Dally’s. “Maybe it’s because I like you,” he muttered, still keeping his eyes glued to the bright blue sky, “or maybe I feel more than just a like towards you. Like I love you or something.” Now that was Darry all the way, avoiding heart to heart conversations and trying to play everything off coolly like it didn’t matter. But your eyes were wide, like deer stuck in the headlights wide, at his confession. When you didn’t say anything, Dally looked at you. His sudden movement was all you needed to wrap your arms around his neck, burying your head into the crook of his neck as fresh tears fell from your eyes even though you weren’t sure wide. Dally, though a tad bit uncomfortable and very new to this type of affection, wrapped his arms around you and held your sobbing form. His thumbs rubbed relaxing circles into your sides, hushing what he figured was comforting words. “I needed to hear that,” you whispered, “it’s been such a long few months that I’ve heard someone else say something other than mean.” “If you’ll let me, I’ll tell you ‘I love you’ everyday and mean it.” You nodded your head, still keeping your face buried into him taking in the smell of his manly musk. Dally eventually pulled the two of you apart, climbing to his feet and pulling you with him. You wiped the tears from your face, probably looking like a red mess. “And no matter what kind of trouble I get into,” Dally continued, “I’ll protect you, I promise.” “Thank you, Dally,” you breathe, happiness flooding your body. He doesn’t say anything else, instead, he takes your hand more carefully and the two of you head off to wherever it was he was taking you. You hadn’t realized it before but in some way, you realized that you did love Dally too. The same way you worried about his safety and health when he smoked, he cared about you physically as well. At the time, you’d only thought that it was because you were his friend but after hearing him tell you he loves you, something in you clicked. You loved him. And he loved you. So maybe you and your red hair weren’t such a burden after all.

#the outsiders #the outsiders imagine #the outsider x reader #dallas winston fanfiction #dallas winston #dally winston #the outsiders oneshot #the outsiders dally #dally x reader #dallas winston x reader #dally winston fluff #fluff #the outsiders fluff #smut #the outsiders smut #imagines #light smut

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keelywolfe · 6 months

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Just because a twitter chat got me thinking that as hilarious as Crowley is in the pub scene, it's funnier to think Aziraphale would truly be the jealous one. Crowley is more amused by humans trying to chat him or the angel up, what does he care, what, after 6000 years one of them is suddenly going to fall for a bad pickup line or a free drink? Aziraphale just has a possessive side and if he were the one to catch someone in his seat at the bar, I can just hear him in that ice-cold voice he can get:

“I beg your pardon, you appear to be in my seat.”

Crowley glanced up at him and his visible amusement did not soothe any of Aziraphale's irritation. “Hey, angel, this is Roy. He’s—“

“Mm, yes, I’m sure he is. My seat, please.”

The urge to miracle a catastrophic failure to the integrity of Roy’s Pilsner glass was itching at Aziraphale’s fingertips. He was almost disappointed when he showed an unexpected good sense and stood up, drink in hand. “Well. It was lovely chatting.”

Crowley gave him a wide smile with an unnecessary amount of teeth. “Right. Anytime.”

Aziraphale stared at Roy with half-closed eyes and a tight-lipped smile that said anytime should be as close to never as humanly possible.

In a show of remarkably poor survival instinct, Roy gestured to the table as he stood at a scrap of paper Aziraphale hadn’t noticed as his full attention had been on glaring at their uninvited guest. “You’ve got my number. Give us a call, anytime.”

Perhaps it was the increase in heat of Aziraphale’s stare that had Roy making a hasty retreat. Aziraphale stalked to his side of the table and sat in his, HIS chair with enough force that the wood groaned ominously.

Crowley propped his chin on one hand, a truly unholy amount of glee visible in his eyes even through the dark tint of his glasses. “Happy now, angel?”

“Not as much as you,” Aziraphale hissed. He took a sullen sip of his drink, hardly able to appreciate the crisp dryness of the sherry.

The way Crowley pressed a hand to his chest in a mocking gesture of offense did nothing to improve his mood. Honestly, what had started as a lovely outing had quickly became a rather unpleasant affair. He was tempted to simply leave in a huff and realized unhappily that he wasn’t entirely certain Crowley would follow him. He might stay just to be contrary, leave Aziraphale waiting by the car while he sat and finished his drink and perhaps someone, perhaps that Roy would come back and sit himself across from Crowley again and—

“Angel.” That single word broke through his wildly spiraling thoughts. There was amusement, yes, but also a certain well-known and well-loved tenderness couched in that single word that had always held more weight than a simple description. “I’d bet you’ve no idea how gorgeous you are when you’re terribly jealous.”

“I’m not…I would never…” Aziraphale sputtered. He gulped down the rest of his drink, terribly uncouth, but it was the only way to cover his floundering. After a hasty gathering of his thoughts, he set his glass firmly down and said with equal firmness, “I was not jealous, I was simply irritated at that terrible person’s manners.”

“Irritated.” Crowley repeated, one side of his mouth rising, widening his smirk.

“Yes,” Aziraphale agreed stoutly. “I was not jealous. Jealousy implies that I don’t trust you and I like to think I’ve been successful in establishing otherwise. I trust you and I have done for some time now, there is no reason or excuse for any jealousy.”

The amusement coloring Crowley’s expression began softening before Aziraphale was halfway through his little speech and by the time he was finished, it was fully transformed to fondness and. And love, Aziraphale could call it that now, if he wanted. He could, he was allowed, there was no one who could stop him.

“Not a doubt in my mind that you trust me,” Crowley said simply. That tight little knot that had formed in Aziraphale’s chest the very moment he’d seen that man in his seat unraveled, easing an ache he’d hardly realized was there. “The rest of the world, now,” Crowley continued, tossing back the last of his drink, “That lot can’t be trusted in the slightest.”

Aziraphale didn’t think Crowley was entirely right about that but a glance around the pub revealed entirely too many looks being sent Crowley’s way and also a somewhat astonishing, and disconcerting, amount being cast his as well.

Crowley shifted in his seat, preparing to stand, “Another drink, angel?”

“No!” Aziraphale blurted and snatched hold of Crowley’s hand. They weren’t quite accustomed to such gestures yet, enough that he could feel Crowley’s surprise in his grip, and also his pleasure. “No. Not yet. Please. Let’s just sit for a while, can we?”

Silly, really, he could use a miracle to keep Crowley’s chair empty while he was at the bar. But he knew full well it wouldn’t stop a very determined human and simply the thought of another person trying to toss their hat into his and Crowley’s very private ring made him feel cross.

The hand in his own, cool and soft, despite his demonic nature Crowley always felt soothingly cool, tightened, fingers lacing between his own.

“Anything you want, angel.” A thumb skirted over Aziraphale’s knuckles, back and forth, and he didn’t bother holding back his pleased sigh. “Anything at all.”

No one noticed a tiny scrap of paper in the middle of their table igniting and turning to a curl of ash, and even if they had, not a one of them would have known it wasn't the demon's doing.

#good omens #good omens fanfiction #ineffable husbands #aziracrow #good omens 2 #keelywolfe

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teecupangel · 6 months

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Hello Teacup! I just need you to know I've basically devoured everything on your AO3 and a multitude of the snippets here and I've adored everything!

But now I have a Thought that I must share.

Imagine Umar Ibn-La'Ahad is mid-mission, fleeing Saladin's tent and just about to attack a general in his way, only for said general to be knocked unconscious by a young boy. He looks a bit like Umar's son too.

The two stare at each other for a moment before the boy opens his mouth.

"You're a bit shit at this, aren't you?"

The boy disappears in the chaos and Umar returns to Masyaf safely if a bit put out at being called out like that and worried for the boy.

Later, Saladin sends a message stating he will retreat on the condition of compensation for his concussed General, warning them that he would have demanded the Assassin's head had the General died. (In other news, Ahmad also returned to Masyaf looking very disgruntled and ruffled, muttering about nosy boys and he WAS a Master Assassin thank you very much.)

So all's well that ends well. Except that no one has any idea who this kid is or where he came from.

Umar wants to know if the boy is ok.

Ahmad has a small grudge and is sulking a bit. (Abbas is also holding a grudge in solidarity.)

Al Mualim wants to see if this boy could be of use.

Altair just wants to thank the person who saved his father. (He can read between the lines.)

Meanwhile, Deaged!Desmond is kicking himself for opening his mouth like that in front of Altair's father. All he wanted to do was make sure Umar got out safely! (and maybe rescuing Ahmad would ensure Abbas didn't grow into such a dick.) The next stop though is Jerusalem for the Apple. He'll go from there.

(There's a Tiny!OP!Desmond loose in the Levant. Nobody knows what he's going to do next, least of all Tiny!Desmond.)

Thank you! It always makes me happy hearing/reading how you guys adore my stories in AO3 and the snippets/ideas here in Tumblr <3

Okay, you know what would be funny? If said general knew that it wasn’t an Assassin who knocked him out. Noooo, he definitely saw it was a boy.

And he also know the Assassin he was chasing saw the boy as well.

So the main reason why he asked Saladin to just ask for compensation was because his pride was wounded so badly that he just wants this entire situation to end already. He’s afraid Umar would tell everyone that a boy, a waif, was the real culprit and he’s too honorable to lie.

When Umar goes to them with the compensation, he can’t even look into Umar’s eyes and Umar ignores him because he’s worried of how Saladin would take it if he does say that it was all that boy’s fault.

They asked him if any wayward brothers had returned during the night and he has no real idea what they’re talking about, only realizing they were asking when he saw that Ahmad had left, mumbling about how some waif had no reason to tell him to take care of his son better, who does he think he is?

So now Umar is wondering who this child is…

And why their paths seemed to be intersecting strangely too much.

Unorganized Notes:

Desmond is either super unlucky or the Calculations is at play because he bumps into Umar too many times that he stopped counting already.

I’m thinking Desmond is around Altaïr’s age because (1) it would make him knocking out a general two or three times his age funnier and (2) it would make Umar’s worry for him easily meld into Desmond reminding him of Altaïr and he can try to reason it’s because of the similar age and not because Desmond… pretty much have some of Altaïr’s mannerism.

You know what would be funny? If the general finally confesses to Saladin and Saladin starts to get curious about this ‘waif’. This would mean another powerful man is out looking for him.

Desmond is winging the entire thing but is also being chased by the Templars because he stole the Apple right under their noses (in this idea, there are already Templars in Levant but they were lying low, waiting for the perfect time to infiltrate the vault underneath the temple when Desmond did his thing).

Desmond turns into an ‘urban legend’ among the Assassins who say that seeing him means some shit is gonna go down. There are even whispers that he’s a harbinger of chaos and destruction because that’s what usually happens when he’s there. (It’s really not. Desmond is mostly stealthy and a lot of Assassins don’t actually see him and they just start attributing those chaotic ‘issues’ to him because… well… they needed a reason XD)

Altaïr starts to think of him as this… strange person who caught his father’s attention which means he caught Altaïr’s attention. Whether that’s a good thing or not is up to you XD

Abbas and Altaïr are friends here but they have differing thoughts about the ‘harbinger’ with Altaïr wanting to meet him (and maybe tie him up so he can bring him to his father) while Abbas wants to punch him because he always feels annoyance about him thanks to Ahmad always being annoyed when he hears the word ‘harbinger’.

The Al-Sayfs want no part in any of these… except Kadar. Kadar supports Altaïr 100% even if it’s something illegal. That’s just a fact at this point.

#this is like…#more humorous and chaotic #because umar is alive #desmond isn’t actually a waif #he just stole clothes two sizes larger than his current body #so people think he’s a waif #ask and answer #assassin's creed #desmond miles #altaïr ibn la'ahad #umar ibn la'ahad #ahmad sofian #abbas sofian #teecup writes/has a plot #fic idea: assassin's creed

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teddy-bear-queen · 10 months

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Bro I have to say this I swear-

I see people trying everything to make it seem like Wukong is a lot worse then he is. I understand you like Macaque, I do too! But the entire point of their relationship is that they’re both in the wrong. The difference is, Wukong got, well, character development. It just feels super annoying to discredit Wukongs hard work in JTTW because of things he did prior.

I’m not saying Wukong is some saint, or an amazing person even while the story is taking place, but he is NOT as bad as some of the people in the LMK fandom make him out to be. I assume it’s because Macaque is the goth shy boy (/hj? /lh), but Macaque literally comes out just to manipulate MK and steal his powers. He’s making the exact same mistakes Wukong did, fighting for power so that he can protect himself. Get stronger. Etc.

Season 4 Special Spoilers:

I don’t think Wukong was ignorant in saying that Macaque doesn’t come to help him. I mean, he got beaten by the Jade Emperor and presumably everyone just left him there and ran off. I’d be pretty mad too. Of course, Macaque was hesitant to begin with, and that’s fair. But he was already there, he could’ve tried. But Macaque has a habit of shying away from fights, only really fighting others to settle a score (S1 E9) or if he has to (LBD arc - both working for and against her, but the S1 E9 relates here, too.) I’m not saying this as an insult, more of an observation. He’s not a coward by any means, a coward would be Peng, who leaves mid-battle in fear of being hurt or losing. Macaque finishes his fights (still knowing when it’s reasonable to retreat), but more often then not prefers to prevent them in the first place. (WHICH IS WHY THE DIVORCE SCENE HITS SO HARD, you know he’s been bottling that up ;v;)

ANYWAY back on topic. I definitely think everything Wukong said there was true. I don’t think he was trying to lie or manipulate Macaque by saying “everything I did was for us”. This is further confirmed when we see him later, tired and completely defeated.

He has nothing to hide here. He’s at his lowest point, stuck in a mountain, tensions high from being abandoned by his sworn brothers, being abandoned by people he held dear. Macaque was trying to be nice, but if I were stuck in a mountain and offered food from someone who left me in such a vulnerable state? I probably wouldn’t take the it either. ALSO. We still have NOT seen these things from Wukongs perspective! Every single time something is revealed from his past, it’s narrated by Tang, Azure, Macaque, etc. Wukong has never (from my memory) spoken about his trials first-hand. This is why I love the guy so much!! What’s going on in his head? How does he feel about these things?

These are such complex characters who have been through so much, so it really bothers me when people look at Sun Wukong and decide to demonise him because of the past which, not only has he moved on from, but we have never even seen his side of the story on. Why did he kill Macaque? Did he kill Macaque? (I’ve seen theories he didn’t, we don’t know rn tho)

Wukong went through a lot of pain to change. Wukong is haunted by his past and in genuine distress over it. You can’t tell me this isn’t a man filled with deep remorse for his actions.

He’s not perfect, but he’s a hell of a lot better. It just really frustrates me that people disregard and discredit the work he put in to get to this point.

THATS IT THATS THE POST

This is really disorganised I’m sorry, I just keep seeing people act like Wukong is the scum of the earth and I honestly just do not get it.

Please don’t send asks about this post, just reblog or comment.

I don’t want to deal with passive aggressive (or just straight up aggressive) people.

As a final note: No, Wukong is not perfect. He’s still a deeply flawed character even with his development. No, Macaque isn’t the scum of the earth. They both have their own problems and they both fucked up. They both did something wrong. That’s the point.

#suki speaks #lmk #Lego monkie kid #sun wukong #lmk sun wukong #lmk wukong #wukong #lmk macaque #six eared macaque #analysis #?#more of a ramble #or a rant #it’s 11:30pm

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letters-unsending · 5 months

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No. 24 Part 2.

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Part one:

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“Oh, you’re here.”

“You invited me.” Hero grinned. His lip was busted and a bandage was pasted over his temple and cheek.

“Well, yes.” Villain retreated from the doorway and motioned Hero in. “But that was weeks ago and I didn’t plan for a siege to happen beforehand and for you to fight in it. I would’ve understood if you couldn’t make it.”

Siege or not, Villain hadn’t expected him to come. After taking Superhero’s mentorship, Hero was carted off to some secret training facility and his belongings were removed by one of the faculty. Villain had to peel his posters from the wall though. He’d also scrubbed away ash stains from Hero’s accidental fires and pilfered the books Hero had shoved underneath his desk to keep it steady.

Part of him was glad Hero had left, so swiftly, so silently. No goodbyes. Villain had been able to tell Supervillain that Hero was no longer fond of him and Superhero allowed Villain to direct his manipulations elsewhere.

However, when he’d purchased a new apartment, he’d decided to set up a housewarming party. He invited Hero because it seemed right—they’d shared a dormitory for a year after all. A few of his new projects, a small group of heroes-in-training and sidekicks, had shown up earlier in the evening. He’d ordered in some food and was given plants, pans and toiletries in return. It’d been a fairly successful night of rubbing elbows and collecting intel.

But Hero stood before him now, cleaner than he’d looked on the TV hours before, clawing through opposition at Superhero’s flank. He still smelled like smoke and cracked cement, and he wandered in with a waver in his step.

“I’m not really supposed to be here.” Hero peeked around the living room, surveying the vintage Superhero prints and magazine covers Villain had pinned up over his couch. “They didn’t let me contact you. I was barely able to text my mom before I left for the training center.”

Villain swallowed, dry. He tasted the lingering stain of coffee on his teeth. “I figured. I knew you had more important things to do.”

“You were always prepared for me to go though.” Hero turned around and smiled at Villain. “You pushed me toward connections and interviews. You helped me with my tests and applications.”

“You were meant for more.” Villain eyed Hero where he stood, backdropped by generations of Superheroes and his ribs ached. “I knew that. Anyone who saw you would’ve known it too.”

Hero sighed and ran a hand through his ragged hair. “You’re always so practical.”

“I like to be realistic.” Villain neared the couch and studied Hero. He’d been gone for seven months, but he’d already changed so much: his shoulders hung stiff; his jaw ticked; his eyes were wild and weary. The attacks over the last few days no doubt added to the weight held in his posture. He oscillated between stillness and shivering anxiety—coiling, uncoiling.

Hero froze as Villain waved a hand to sit. He let Villain grow nearer, till he was no more than a pace away, and then reached, tugging Villain forward by the elbow.

“I missed you.”

“Oh,” Villain breathed, “okay.”

“[Villain].” Hero flexed his hand and set it over Villain’s shoulder. “You’re acting like I’ve left you behind.”

“You have the opportunity to make powerful alliances. There is no reason for you to hang onto past…acquaintances.” Villain looked up, at the wobbling line of Hero’s jaw, at the churning tendons in his neck. “I don’t want to hold you back.”

“You’re not holding me back.” Hero denied. “[Villain], you’re not just some stepping stone. You inspired me. You made believe that I could do something great.”

“Anyone would’ve done what I did. And you would’ve been able to succeed, with or without my help.”

“But you did it. You were with me.” Hero’s voice cracked. “I’m not a fucking prick. I’m not going to leave people behind just because there are opportunities somewhere else.”

Villain closed his eyes as they burned. Hero had been an opportunity for him, something to use. His hand shifted in his pocket as he turned Supervillain’s recorder off.

“I missed you too.”

And Hero reeled him in. Villain sighed. Hero sighed and rested his cheek against Villain’s hair, breathing slowly, running a tentative hand down Villain’s side.

“Nice apartment, by the way.” Hero glanced over Villain’s head, toward the cabinet beside the couch. There were pictures of superheroes set up there too, framed and sorted by decade, and a few shots of the city scenery.

At the front though, there was a picture of them. They had their arms wrapped around each other’s shoulders. Villain was reading a new magazine, leaning into Hero, and smiling as he pointed out a section to him.

Sidekick had snapped the picture and Villain had chased after him once he heard the click. Hero had thought he’d forced Sidekick to delete it.

With a more confident grasp, Hero squeezed Villain’s shoulders, and hid a grin into his temple. “You been doing alright?”

“I’ve been fine.” Villain clutched him back and stared at the blinking light in the corner of room. “I’ve had a few people looking out for me.”

#writeblr #villain #writing prompt #hero #prompt #villain prompt #writing #hero prompt #hero x villain #drabble

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writing-for-life · 2 months

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Keeping Them In Character...

It’s so interesting what you wrote about fixing Morpheus in the other post, @rriavian. I didn't want to take that one too off topic, hence I made a new one. I hope this is okay, because I love talking about these things, especially with other writers (everyone who reads this, writer or not, feel free to join in). I think I’ve said this somewhere else before (can’t remember where): If we keep him in character, there is no fixing him anyway.

But fanfic wouldn’t be fanfic without those attempts, and I totally get why. I want a different ending for him, too, alas, not in canon, even if that might sound contradictory. If they touched the ending in the show, I’d honestly be pissed off, but that’s my personal problem, and Neil can do with it whatever he wants—it’s his story. So I guess every fic that sees him alive at the end starts with the premise that we have to bend him into shape ever so slightly to make it possible. To me though, there’s a world of a difference between that and basically turning him into an OC with no resemblance to Morpheus bar name and looks (not saying that isn’t fair, it’s just not for me because if I wanted that, I’d write an OC, because that’s what he would be to me).

Morpheus is not weak. I even get why some people who mainly came to the Sandman via the show might be drawn into that direction initially, because we obviously see him very low at the beginning (I’m hesitant to say “at his lowest”). But after that, he pretty much stands in his power again (with ups and down obvs)—a power that burdens him for a multitude of reasons I don’t want to go into now, otherwise I’ll still sit here tomorrow. Wrote about it a million times though.

I think the fundamental misunderstanding is that anyone can fix him. So whoever we pair up with him can only walk with him, but he’ll need to take the steps himself, and more importantly: He would need a reason to want to do that. And yes, that’s exactly what my OC tells him at some point because she suffers, and she’s done with it despite understanding him on a deep level and accepting who and what he is—I think you're right when you say there’s a tendency in fandom to turn one half of the relationship into some kind of martyr and/or “void filler” to save someone. And the tricky thing about Morpheus is: He actually is looking for something to fill a void (which, to stress that again, doesn't mean he isn't powerful, so it's not to be mistaken for general weakness). And both in The Sandman and in real life, that never leads to anything good, but I can see why it's tempting to fall into that trap because his character lends itself particularly well to that type of trope (and I even play around with that in the first part of my fic, but it was also clear to me that it won't end there).

Now, this obviously isn’t real life, a story doesn’t necessarily have to lead to something good, but the most important question, to me, was always: What would make him take said steps himself, and above all: WANT to take them? Because truly, that’s where it all falls down in canon. And there is enough scope to explore that in quite a few different ways in my view.

For me, it was always clear that it can never be through wanting to change who or what he is on a fundamental level (that’s why I’m not into retired!Dream AUs, because they would fundamentally change who he is. Again, totally fine if people want to explore that, it's just not for me). I honestly believe he would bristle at that and recoil/retreat. Because it would just add to what is at the core of his very dilemma: If you want to change who and what he is, you basically admit you don’t truly understand him (not even those closest to him truly do), and that’s part of what breaks him (I say “part”, because there are more things in the mix than one can shake a stick at). And there is a clear difference between his being capable of change (we all know he is) and wanting to change him. They are not one and the same, but sometimes, fandom treats them as if they were.

Misunderstanding him, misinterpreting him is inherent to his being: He is Dream—forever out of reach, forever nebulous and unreal and weird and prone to be misunderstood/misinterpreted unless you stop trying and just trust the process/intuition--otherwise, it wouldn’t be (a) D/dream. It truly applies to all that he is. And you see what happens when he tries to rationalise things himself: Although he understands the boundaries between dreams and reality and keeps them in place, he is UNreality, and forever will be. And the way that gets ignored in fandom sometimes baffles me. Although it also doesn’t, because of course we’re human, and we want things to be real.

Back to those steps: I personally think he would never take them for himself because he doesn’t believe he has a story, and outright centring himself as the main character who is in charge of his own story is something he will always deny himself. But I think that’s also the way in? Because if he could perceive, at least initially, that he is part of someone else’s story and that they WANT him in that story (all that he is and isn’t, including all that is broken) with full acceptance but without complete self-denial. That they don’t try to change him, because they understand what the unreal is (and that requires a very particular type of person). That he would want to try because the love he has for them weighs heavier than how little he loves himself (was it you, @stellerssong who recently also wrote something along those lines, or am I making that up?). And that by doing that, he gradually learns to see himself through someone else's eyes. And once on that path, he would maybe, just maybe, start to understand that indeed he has a story of his own, and that he might be able if not to entirely rewrite, but at least to keep on writing it from this moment onward. Like everyone who believes (because believing something is possible means trusting in it despite it not being real, and trusting in the process rather than the result. He knows the power this wields over everyone but himself--not because it’s not true for him but because he won’t allow it. But maybe he could get himself to a stage where he allows it). That it's not about fixing anything really, but growing enough around what's broken and always will be, instead of trying to make it smaller or go away.

Yes, I do believe that might be possible, although there's much more to it than I've written here because it's incredibly complex, and it requires a lot of give and take, compromise and yes, pain along the way. And maybe it might not work at all (I never really 100% know where I end up when I write because my characters always, always make those decisions for me, and despite setting out with a plan, I almost never end up where I had initially intended to go. So if you asked me today, I couldn’t promise that I truly know where my current WiP is going and who will be where at its end, and it is very frustrating at times because I’m not always happy with what these guys are doing. At the moment, I'm truly not). But I believe he would at least try if someone who allowed for those dynamics were around. And that’s why I wrote an OC, because while I can see one or two canon characters that get fairly close to what I'd envision (and none of them are one half of the bigger ships), I ultimately couldn’t do it with them because there was something in their established dynamics that threw it off for me. Unless I would have pulled at least one of them (probably both) OOC to a degree that felt too much for me. But I'm always super interested in other people's process and line of thinking.

But yeah, that’s the precarious dance between trying to keep him in character while also working towards a different ending (that's obviously far less of a problem in one-shots). If that will ever work—who knows…

#sandman fanfic #the sandman #sandman #dream of the endless #morpheus #fanfic writing process #also somewhat of a >>>#sandman meta #trying to keep them in character #and it's hard

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starrylayle · 3 months

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My fave marauders ships and dynamics as a multi-shipper !! Ok so, there are certain ships I like to imagine as canon in the canon universe, and there are other ships that I prefer in aus and such but still ship them so much!! So I thought I’d just ramble abt them here lol.

My fave ships that are canon/I think I should be endgame:

First off, Jily ofc. My loves. I’m generally not super excited abt str8 couples but they’re just too cute. My fave dynamic with them is that they’re academic rivals — well at least lily thinks they are, James is just hopelessly in love with her and enjoys competition lol. Lily thinks he’s an idiot, immature and a bit of a bully at first but slowly warms up to him as she sees his kind-heartedness and stance on justice. Plus, she’s always found him a little hot :)

Wolfstar, duh. I don’t think I have to go into detail coz I already do so much on my blog lol.

Dorlene — aaah I love my tragic, angsty lil lesbians. Sucker for the quidditch-rivals-to-lovers trope. Ooh and i headcanon Dorcas as transfem. But yeah if you’ve read ‘the hands that feeds’ by rollercoasterwords that’s basically how I see their dynamic.

Fralice — cuties and did not deserve the ending they got ;((

Rosekiller — ok, ok. I know I’ve ranted abt how I don’t like the fanonization of their characters in fandom,, but I will admit I do like them together. Especially when they’re depicted as the awful people they are lol. I like to think that they’re still hooking up in GoF on nights where barty’s poly juice wears off lmaoo. Also random but I hc Barty to be in ravenclaw.

Pandora x Xenophillius (idk how to spell his name) — I like to imagine Pandora as a goth who runs an underground magical weed business and Xeno as a hippie weirdo and conspiracy theorist. Both are bi/pan tho and have def hooked up with ppl of the same gender before.

Andromeda x Ted Tonks — iconic. Love them. Andy was the og rebellious black family child.

Emmary — love, love this ship. For context, I picture Emmaline as a little older than Mary (maybe 2 or 3 years) and they meet when Em’s at the order. Mary’s a bisexual girlie who’s predominantly been with men at this point, and Em’s a big Butch lesbian who loves Mary so much but isn’t sure if Mary likes her back, at first. Ofc they end up together after the first war but when Em wants to join the second war, Mary oblivates herself and retreats to the muggle world entirely because she cannot bear more pain.

My fave ships that I like to think are semi-canon, as in their unrequited, or right person wrong time, or both have feelings that the other doesn’t know — they just don’t workout for some reason:

First off, Marylene — my absolute fave, right person, wrong time ship. Love the whole, ‘Marlene loved her too early, Mary loved her too late idea’. I’m a sucker for best friends to lovers ahhh. I imagine that Marls had crush on Mary since they were eleven and came out to her later, and although Mary was supportive she didn’t like her back at that point. Then Marls got with Dorcas and maybe Mary got a tad bit jealous. And then Marlene was killed ofc so Mary moved on and went with Emmaline, but she never really stopped loving Marlene.

Nobleflower — bi narcissa and Alice rights!! I like to think that they had a bit of a homoerotic friendship back in their hogwarts years, but the fact that they were on opposite sides eventually pulled them apart. And so Alice gets with Frank and Narcissa with Malfoy. Aaah so tragic I love them

Lily x Remus — I like to think Lily had a little crush on Remus when they were younger but she got over it and they became besties !!

Bellatrix / Lady Zabini — Toxic murder comphet lesbians!! Tho I imagine they ‘broke up’ their fling coz Bellatrix was murdering with pure blood fascism in mind,,, and lady Zabini was just like,, why can’t we just kill ppl for the sake of killing them?? 🥺🥺

Jegulus — ok so I don’t like jegulus as a canon(ish) ship, buuut I love me some unrequited jegulus, specifically from Regulus’ side coz sorry I just personally don’t see James ever liking Reg in canon. I imagine Reg goes into hogwarts wanting to hate the guy who stole his brother but ends up falling for him just the same. He has internalised homophobia and hates the fact that he’s gay, esp for someone like James lol.

Bartylus — My hc is that neither of them liked each other romantically, but they settled and got off each other to pass time. It’s transactional, at least it’s starts off being..maybe barty’s a little more into it than reg thinks they are.

Peter/Bertha Jorkins — I like to imagine they dated for awhile during hogwarts — until Bertha got bored of him and dumped him. Peter never really got over it and was still bitter.

Peter/Sybil — oooh I remember this one was trending on marauders tik tok awhile back but I’m still not over it. Happens after Bertha/Peter. Sybil breaks up with Peter maybe coz she gets a prophecy that he becomes evil. Peter is confused and heartbroken.

Snily — ok hear me out!! I don’t care for their portrayals in a lot of fics coz I think the pro / anti Snape bias is always there — but I would be open to exploring the complexity of their dynamic in a fic when snapes actions aren’t justified or excused, but he’s not portrayed as a one dimensional bad guy. And I think it would be interesting to explore more of Lily’s character and why she stuck by him so long.

Ok, now onto ships that I only enjoy in aus:

Marylily/macevans — by far my fave ship in aus. Best friends to lovers >>>> also half the marauders edits saved on my phone are marylily edits lmaoo they’re just so cute!!

Jegulus — requited this time!! If it’s an au and James is not reduced to a generic sunshine people pleasing character, then they’re a little cute I’ll admit. Not the biggest fan of the 'best friend's brother' trope but the drama is entertaining at least.

Mary/Dorcas — I don’t think they’re a very popular on here but I personally like it. In a way they’re opposites but they’re motivations are a lot more similar than they realise.

Pandalily — so, so cute. Fanart is spectacular

Dorlily — so academic rivals to lovers coded

Prongsfoot — specifically in aus where James and Sirius are on opposing sides, for example, slytherin!Sirius au

Wolfstarbucks — James and sirius share everything!! Including their lovers apparently. Mostly enjoy it as a crack ship tho.

Well this was fun!! I love multi-shipping <33

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snowyh2o · 1 month

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Anyone else notice how after Alastor introduces himself to Adam, Adam makes a comment on his voice and then somehow immediately makes the leap in logic that Alastor likes or is connected to jazz?

Like, all Alastor said was his name, and while we the audience know he likes jazz, nothing about his name should clue Adam in on that information.

Even if Adam recognized the name Alastor as the Radio Demon’s (considering he did recognize Angel’s name lol), I doubt the rest of hell would know about Alastor’s music preferences. Which would be where Adam should be getting his information from if it’s just General Knowledge about the popular figures in Hell.

Adam also knows Alastor’s connected to radio, which isn’t really obvious considering Alastor’s character design doesn’t lend much to the radio aesthetic aside from the filter on his voice and the transatlantic accent he uses. And none of the powers he was using during the fight were even radio related.

Which leads me to suspect: Adam has never met Alastor before, BUT he’s heard of him from someone else. Someone who knows enough about Alastor that they told Adam about his music preferences, his connection to radio, etc.

And another thing, Adam had every chance to finish Alastor off while he was panicking/recovering from the first hit. Adam would’ve had all the time in the world to kill him if he wanted. Which, I don’t think Adam did since he literally watches Alastor retreat into the shadows and lets him go. (<- I originally thought Adam didn’t deal a killing blow on his first hit on purpose, because he totally could’ve, but rewatching the clip slow-mo I noticed that Alastor actually notices Adam’s attack and tries to dodge, he leans backwards right before Adam’s attack hits. This supports Alastor’s song bit about escaping death by a hair, if he hadn’t leaned back when he did, there’s a good chance he’d have actually died.)

(Not to mention the suspicious lack of angelic weaponry when Alastor confronted Adam, though jury’s out on if that particular happening was due to arrogance, stupidity, or some unknown plan he had up his sleeves which evidently failed.)

I’m not really a subscriber to any theories on who Alastor has made a deal with, BUT the evidence here, the connection between Adam and Alastor, only points to one other character right now.

We know Lilith made a deal with Adam. We know that Alastor disappeared around the same time she did. We know Adam has never met Alastor in person before, but there’s strong evidence to suggest he’s heard about Alastor from someone who knew him well. We see Alastor choose to not bring any angelic weapons into his fight with Adam, and Adam in turn choose to not follow or kill Alastor when he’s distracted and lets him escape.

I think this points towards both Alastor and Adam being aware on some level of each other’s connection to Lilith, and then independently deciding that they won’t kill the other because of said connection. And I say independently because while Adam lets Alastor escape, Alastor’s reaction to his near death experience is genuine— he fully believed that Adam would’ve killed him if he hadn’t run.

There’s some holes in this idea that I’ll point out here:

Firstly, Adam was gunning to kill Alastor. Alastor only lives that first attack by leaning back just as he got hit. Adam suddenly deciding to let Alastor go could also be his way of mocking Alastor. Because the guy talked big but then ends up running away, and I think Adam’s the kind of guy who’d find that funny. (His little “Bye bitch!” And wave while leaning on his axe guitar)

Alastor not bringing an angelic weapon to the fight can be, as stated earlier, for a multitude of reasons. He’s under orders not to kill Adam, he decides he shouldn’t kill Adam, he thought he could kill Adam with his own hands, the plan wasn’t to kill Adam but to keep him distracted, etc.

The Lilith Knows things about Alastor and then telling that stuff to Adam implies that Lilith would’ve had to have known Alastor long before they went missing 7 years ago. Or specifically, that 7 years ago Alastor didn’t disappear due to a deal he’d just made, but potentially one he made ages ago. This also implies that Lilith and Adam could hold a cordial conversation long enough for Lilith to mention details about the people she knows without the two of them clawing at each other’s throats.

The implication that it has to be Lilith who passed the information onto Adam. Technically, it’s possible that any of the big contender’s (Roo, Eve, Lilith) could’ve passed the information onto Adam, Lilith is just the most likely candidate given what we know. We know that Adam personally attends every extermination, that’s ample opportunity to confront him for a chat. Probably how Lilith got her deal with Adam in the first place.

This entire theory hinges on it being very odd for Adam to make the leap from “radio voice” to “liking jazz” in the time it takes for Alastor to introduce himself.

#hazbin hotel #alastor #alastor hazbin hotel #Adam #adam hazbin hotel #Alastor meta #hazbin hotel meta #hazbin hotel analysis #long post #things that make me go hmmm

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hollowed-theory-hall · 5 days

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That theory in Riddle being sexually abused by a Doctor figure and the behaviours he depicted + the talk on unsympathetic victims... Kind of violently reminded me of Severus, and especially his Worst memory where the Marauders did what they did to him. Even his bond with Lily was this unhealthy dependency I think? Well not the right word. But Lily was the only thing keeping him sane and going I feel.

Anonymus: Adding on to the previous ask about Sev and Lily and unsympathetic victims. Do you think the Evans ever acted for Severus the way the weasleys did for Harry? A safe retreat? Do you think they ever tried to report Tobias? How do you interpret Sev and Lil's bond? I know a lot of the fandom thinks Sev was infatuated with her/ romantically loved her...but I often felt that Severus raised Lily to a holy Mary status, and that while he did in fact love her, it was platonic (in which case there is a comment to be made about the way platonic love between opp sex PPL is perceived and ridiculed)

I'm not the op of the post you mentioned, but yeah, Severus is a great example of an unsympathetic victim. Personally, he isn't a character I like all that much, but he is undeniably an interesting one. This turned out a little rambly, but that's what I got.

We don't know how SWM ended, but, yeah... not pleasant regardless of how far it went.

Severus was definitely a victim of abuse, both at his home and school and what he went through was awful. That victimhood doesn't excuse his treatment of students in his care. Like, I had a temporary position as an instructor for teenagers, and Severus' treatment of his students makes me want to throttle him a bit.

But as a child, as a teen — he definitely didn't deserve the life he got. Dumbledore has a tendency to turn a blind eye to abuse for various reasons, which ended up fucking a lot of people over, Snape included. (Tom and Hary too)

As for Severus' dependence on Lily, yeah, I think he was incredibly fixated on her. I agree with you that that fixation isn't necessarily romantic. Lily, was essentially Severus' first friend — his best friend. Lily was to Snape what Ron was to Harry in a way. The first person he felt he could trust.

I went through The Prince's Tale to refresh my memory on all of this, and I wanna talk about his friendship with Lily first, actually.

“. . . thought we were supposed to be friends?” Snape was saying, “Best friends?” “We are, Sev, but I don’t like some of the people you’re hanging round with! I’m sorry, but I detest Avery and Mulciber! Mulciber! What do you see in him, Sev, he’s creepy! D’you know what he tried to do to Mary MacDonald the other day?” Lily had reached a pillar and leaned against it, looking up into the thin, sallow face. “That was nothing,” said Snape. “It was a laugh, that’s all—” “It was Dark Magic, and if you think that’s funny—” “What about the stuff Potter and his mates get up to?” demanded Snape. His color rose again as he said it, unable, it seemed, to hold in his resentment.

(DH, 569)

Severus sees himself and Lily as best friends. He's happy when she dislikes James, but, he never makes any attempt to become romantic with her. It can be read either way, but personally, I like to read it as a close friendship.

(A little unrelated note about the above quote I saw someone mention once somewhere: Severus knows James fancies Lily, and warns her about it in that same conversation above, and It's interesting he raises Lily's potential romantic interest in James as a retort when she says she doesn't know what he sees in Mulciber. Is anyone shipping Mulciber/Severus? 👀)

I mentioned in this post how I believe Severus' Patronus is a doe because he sees Lily as his defender. Even after all these years. And I think, that too, can be about friendship. Because Liy was his first friend, his first defender. The fact that in SWM we see her step in to defend him suggests to me it happened before. That Lily stepped in to defend Severus, so when he calls for a guardian, in the form of a Patronus, it's still Lily.

And after SWM, Severus is less concerned about what happened to him, he's more concerned about losing Lily. That was the worst thing about that memory. Not his humiliation or assualt, but the loss of his first, and probably only best friend. I don't think he ever trusted someone else like he trusted Lily:

“I’m sorry.” “I’m not interested.” “I’m sorry!” “Save your breath.” It was nighttime. Lily, who was wearing a dressing gown, stood with her arms folded in front of the portrait of the Fat Lady, at the entrance to Gryffindor Tower. “I only came out because Mary told me you were threatening to sleep here.” “I was. I would have done. I never meant to call you Mudblood, it just—” “Slipped out?” There was no pity in Lily’s voice.

(DH, 571)

Is he a blood-purist who thinks Lily is a perfect muggleborn and therefore an exception to everything? Yes. Severus is in the wrong here about calling Lily a mudblood and thinking it's fine because she's a good mudblood, she's not like the other muggleborns. Lily has every right to cease her friendship with him over it.

But it's telling about his priorities the first thing he does is try to fix their friendship, to apologize to her.

Did he deserve to be hanged upside down and likely stripped in the middle of a large audience at school? Hell no. James probably didn't see it as a big deal, but it's so messed up I don't really know what to say, really. Like, I think Severus definitely fought back and wasn't always the victim of the Marauders, though. In the scene I mentioned above with Mulciber it's implied Severus and his Death Eater buddies are just as bad as James and the Marauders are. Their targets are just different. I think what James did is awful and inexcusable, but at the same time, I think, in the same way Tom Riddle hung Billy's rabbit to scare his bullies away, Severus tried to do the same, if less successfully. It's why he invented spells like Langlock (used in SWM on him) and Sectumsempra.

A lot of his demeanor is the result of abuse. He bullies and scares his students because he's mimicking his father, his abuser. he learned from him to control by force, with fear threats, and degradation. Because that's what Severus experienced as a child. Also, the fact he became a professor as young as he did, meant he felt had to force his students to take him seriously. Some of his first students probably saw him in his lowest moments as a student himself. So, he resorted to the fear and insults that his father likely used when he wanted to be taken seriously.

I truly think the loss of Lily's friendship is what stung the most about the whole ordeal of SWM. I mean, Severus has a lot of bad memories. I'm sure this wasn't the only time he was humiliated and assaulted. He was abused by his father. He was almost killed by Lupin as a werewolf during the prank. And then he joined a terrorist organization where he was likely tortured, where he likely watched people die. And in all of this, his worst memory is this one case of assault that I doubt was the only one? This doesn't make much sense to me, I think it's his worst memory not because of what happened to him, but because he lost his friendship with Lily over what he considers a "stupid slip".

And yeah, after Lily's death, in his mind, Snape raised her to a saintly status. He never has a mean thought about her, because he feels guilty over her death. He feels like he killed his only defender. So, of course, his memories of her are colored like she was perfect. That's how he wants to remember her so he can keep feeling guilty and hating himself over it. He feels like he deserves to feel that way. This is something you see with victims of abuse, they rationalize their abuse by convincing themselves they deserve it.

And Snape is a very bitter character who doesn't want to get better.

As for whether I think he found solace in the Evans household the same way Harry did with the Weasleys? The answer is yes actually. And there's some evidence for it.

Lily knew things weren't good at home for Severus:

“How are things at your house?” Lily asked. A little crease appeared between his eyes. “Fine,” he said. “They’re not arguing anymore?” “Oh yes, they’re arguing,” said Snape. He picked up a fistful of leaves and began tearing them apart, apparently unaware of what he was doing. “But it won’t be that long and I’ll be gone.”

(DH, 563-564)

And Severus mentioned later in that conversation how his father doesn't just not like magic — he doesn't like anything. Severus and his mother are very clearly implied to be abused by his father when his mother is mentioned. He doesn't describe much of what goes on at home, he tries to act fine, but I'm calling it abuse because of what it most likely is. Severus can't wait to leave home as an eleven-year-old. This isn't something that usually happens in healthy households.

Additionally, Severus spent enough time in their house it was conceivable he and Lily snuck into Petunia's room to find her letter to Hogwarts:

“You shouldn’t have read—” whispered Petunia, “that was my private—how could you—?” Lily gave herself away by half-glancing toward where Snape stood nearby. Petunia gasped. “That boy found it! You and that boy have been sneaking in my room!”

(DH, 566)

So, he probably stayed over with the Evans parents most of the day and only returned home to sleep. That's what I think happened. And, Lily's parents seem very kind and accepting of magic from what little we hear of them:

Lily glanced toward her parents, who were looking around the platform with an air of wholehearted enjoyment, drinking in the scene. Then she looked back at her sister, and her voice was low and fierce

(DH, 566)

“You knew?” said Harry. “You knew I’m a — a wizard?” “Knew!” shrieked Aunt Petunia suddenly. “Knew! Of course we knew! How could you not be, my dratted sister being what she was? Oh, she got a letter just like that and disappeared off to that — that school — and came home every vacation with her pockets full of frog spawn, turning teacups into rats. I was the only one who saw her for what she was — a freak! But for my mother and father, oh no, it was Lily this and Lily that, they were proud of having a witch in the family!”

(PS, 41)

I think Severus preferred the Evans house over his own. His own where his parents argued and his father abused him and his mother. Where his parents both worked and left him wandering the streets as a young child.

As for whether the Evans parents ever tried to report Tobias, we just don't really know. I'd say no. Domestic abuse in the 1970s was still largely unrecognized and not treated legally and medically like it is today. So, I don't think they'd have anyone to report to even if they wanted to. Especially with where the Snapes lived, which was essentially slums that the police didn't bother with anyway.

#harry potter #hp #hp meta #harry potter meta #severus snape #lily potter #lily evans #hollowedtheory #asks #anon asks #anonymous

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pokidot · 4 months

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MANDELA — twelve

wc: 1,473

“Get in. This is the last time I ever waste my time for some rando.”

Kuni was the first to exit the convenience store. He opened his vehicle door with a force strong enough that the rest of them were surprised it didn't fly off the handles.

You aided in his tyrant wake of destruction by pushing and nudging Hu Tao towards the door, leaving her to fervently panic. "Look, I can't say it out in public, alright?! This is a secret operation, and you're seriously going to blow my cover—”

"Cover? That's what you're worried about, a cover?" Kuni scoffed, "Your cover was to no avail once you got your tears and snot on my very expensive car."

"Did you have to add that it was very expensive?" You said, looking away with half-lidded eyes.

She strode mighty out of the convenience store, the welcoming beacon of neon lights clashing with the sunlight rising. "I can't believe you're the one triggered, I had to almost dig my eyes out with a spoon."

"Oh, we're complaining now? You can stay here, if you'd like. I'm sure you'll love scraping maggots off the floor in the back." But as the silence made emphasis, he grinned.

Hu Tao gasped, holding her manicured fingers towards her lips, her reddened eyes in slight fear. “Are you implying there’s dead bodies in there right now?”

“I’m implying that it’s an extremely unsanitary condition that only a rat would think to be around.” He replied. “Oh wait, I see some similarities now.”

"Okay, can we relax?"

Hu Tao gasped, backing up. "You used your hairspray-nuclear...practice missile thing on the wrong person, buddy. I feel like your dog is ten seconds away from turning me into a chew toy."

"You are really suspicious." You shrugged.

"I'm not!"

"Yeah, you are~ You little sussy-wussy, you." You said while poking at her cheek, swaying your shoulders humorously. “Just get in the car, he’s not gonna bite you. I am!”

You nudged the girl’s shoulder again, closer and closer towards the inside of the car, shutting the door behind her and looking towards Kuni again. Your eyebrows raised.

You knew he knew about suspicion, but in your eyes, suspicion was looking back at you too. “Stop scarin’ our livestock, Johnny. We ain’t gonna have none left.” You said to him in a country accent.

He shouldn't have been seething, but something about Hu Tao’s general disposition irked him. “She’s a creep. If you were alone I wouldn’t be surprised if she sold you to the Fatui.”

“I know, but we gotta lay low!” You threw your hands up. “We can’t just be outing our business to the entire wild west! You think word don’t spread around these parts?” You said while motioning towards the vast land of nothing besides the road and the tumbleweeds in the distance.

"Stop doing that voice. And don’t talk to me like I’m stupid.” Kuni’s eyes moved back towards the rest of the group. “We can’t afford to take chances when we have a pack of idiots with us.”

“Spoken as if I didn’t collaborate the pack of idiots.” You stuck your tongue out sarcastically. “If we’re really talking, I can’t afford anything.”

You drew closer to the rest of the group. “We’re going straight in. Ready?”

“You’re not listening to me.” Kuni’s voice drew out in a louder tone, his annoyance lingering on his tongue. "This is a really bad idea that will get worse, I'm warning you!"

“Damn, for some reason I hear a very annoying ringing! Hope it GETS BACK IN THE CAR SOON.” You responded, ending with a shout, that made Kuni's lip twitch in malcontent.

"...Wow." Kuni scoffed, ultimately listening and retreating back to the drivers seat.

Your head turned back to the group, grin slack on your face. “He’s so happy to be here.”

The group's faces held an air of expectation, but as they all exchanged glances, Heizou's gaze remained fixed. It was like a tapestry unraveled in his brain. "Question," He paused with uncertainty. "We're keeping a hostage with us because...?"

"Okay, chill out." You rolled your eyes. "She can't be a hostage if she attacked me first. Keep up."

"Keep up?!" Heizou's jaw fell slack. "Is your head on right? What if someone is looking for her? We led a paper trail to the rest of us. Then we have blood on our hands, we can't let anybody know we're going into Mori Grove!"

"It'll be fine! This is the best possible outcome." You grinned. "Plus, if I get what I want, we may have further investigation to look into."

"And you're happy?" Aether hesitated. "Like...with the risk?"

"Are you kidding? I'm so happy, I almost forgot I owe the government 500,000 mora." You chortled, the chuckle slowly fading as your face fell. "Almost."

"I thought you said that you weren't in debt?" Kazuha blinked.

There was a sudden tremor in your expression, begging Kazuha not to simmer the burn any further with your pleading eyes. The boy could only nod slowly. "Right...nevermind."

"Oh~ I love when cute people are financially vulnerable." Venti cooed.

"Oh my gosh, not here!" You dramatically replied, making a shooing motion with your hand.

"Well, this was a ridiculously unnecessary amount of time we wasted." Xiao's eyebrow cocked up in disdain. "You better have a good plan."

The car glided up the winding path heading to a cabin not too far from the village itself. It remained nestled in the ominous thicket of the forest, remaining eerie enough for the fog not to clear from the open acres of land. The road was beginning to close from the leeway, but thanks to Venti’s very convincing (and seductive) reasoning, the patrol let them through.

The headlights, like a piercing cat's eyes, provide fleeting glimpses of the ancient trees as it starts to stop along the pathway. There was something wrong with the atmosphere, and that itself was a reminder to Kuni that his stoic mood was necessary.

He turn the key out of the ignition, his eyes made a small glimpse at the sun that was no longer on the horizon before watching the second car with the others approach the other side of the pathway onto the grassy texture.

There was a noticeable sense of presence that was left, like an unseen spectator watching from the windows, their group unknowing that they were there. But before he was about to mention such, he was snapped out of his focus by Hu Tao's nervous chuckle.

There was an imminent silence amongst the three, before Hu Tao laughed nervously, eyes darting around the area. "Haha, well it's been a blast getting to know all of you within...two-ish? Hours, buuuuttt I really gottaaaa-"

"Shut up. You're not going anywhere." You cut her off, your hand reaching for the car door to open it and get out. "Kuni, watch her. I'll get the equipment."

Hearing a small sound of protest from the former, you grunted and shut the door, having felt your nerves on edge as soon as you got here. The home built out of wood stood tall, intimidating in its nature, being the lonesome home.

You wrapped the band of the camera around your neck, hooking on the gear and shoving the spare lens in your pocket, digging for spare handcuffs while the rest of the group approached you.

"Hold this. Can someone knock on the door? She said she would be here." You asked, putting a wad of paper towels and coins into Aether's hand.

"What are you- oh! okay!" Aether was met with anything he could have expected from you: a pair of handcuffs. "Where did you even get those?"

"Stole 'em."

Aether, looking extremely uncomfortable, gave a small cough. "Just a...heads up for next time would be good, okay?"

"Not kink stuff. This is for her." You motioned your head towards the girl who was coming out of the car, being stalked upon by Kuni, who didn't look too pleased either.

You quickly snapped the cuffs on each hand one at a time, to which Hu Tao's mouth dropped. "Handcuffs. Handcuffs? I think you're taking this way too far."

"Yeah? Should've thought about that when you lied to me."

"What, all because I can't tell you what I was doing?! I'm not trying to sabotage your investigation, I swear!" Hu Tao said in a slightly pleading tone.

"Pull your weight if you want out." You leaned closer to her with a hiss to your tone, causing her to draw back slowly. "You're going to wait until we're finished, and THEN I'll decide if I'm feeling generous enough to uncuff you."

You drew your finger back from her face, stepping back and heading towards the wooden door. Hu Tao was frozen in disbelief, along with Aether who slowly murmured towards her. "They didn't put me up to this, I swear."

Kuni, mildly proud of you as his eyebrows rose in delight, nudged Hu Tao and Aether towards the rest of the group. "Move it.”

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NOTES || hey! if anybody saw the other one... no u didn't ! <3 PLEASE NO UYOU DIDN'T (but if you did then u know smth others dont oh well lol)

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